


Following Dragonborn

by TeriGrander



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Skyrim Main Quest, Skyrim Side Quests, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeriGrander/pseuds/TeriGrander
Summary: Four people happened to accompany Dragonborn on his quests. Not all of those quests were about defeating the World-Eater. In fact, even that one wasn't related to the problem this particular Dragonborn was trying to solve.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Legionnaire: Escape Helgen

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, since Hjalti decided to be difficult, I'm going to put this out there and see how this Scroll takes care of itself.  
> I do have most of the story mapped out, and I do intend to finish it, but since the main character refuses to tell me anything, it might be a while before that happens.  
> Tags and characters will be added as I write. Also, this is the first work I post here, so I'm rather unsure about tags and stuff, and would be grateful if you point out something I should add there.

Spiders. Hadvar was starting to really, really hate spiders. And caves. And... Another spider dropped from the cave ceiling, immediately attacking Ralof.

"There's too many of them!" Hadvar cried, trying to fend off the creature attacking him, but only succeeded in getting another poison-burn. "We'd never make it if we keep fighting!"

"What... do you... suggest?" Ralof panted, hacking at the four spiders around him.

"I'll distract them! You get out of here and let Riverwood know!"

"That's not what we agreed on!" Ralof managed to push one of the spiders back, and it turned on Hadvar instead.

Before the legionnaire could answer, the whole cave trembled, several large rocks coming loose and falling from the walls. The angry roar of an awoken bear followed.

"No use if we both die here!" Hadvar shouted, thrusting his sword at the spider and trying to kick it in the head at the same time. He barely managed to keep his balance, but the spider recoiled, allowing him a moment to attack the creatures that were still closer to Ralof.

"Go!" he cried when the Stormcloak hesitated. "Get out of here! Warn Riverwood!"

Finally, Ralof turned and ran for the exit. Hadvar hoped he could make it to the town.

Then there wasn't much time to think about anything else but the spiders.

And the bear that they'd managed to sneak around earlier.

And the rocks falling from the cave ceiling and walls as the whole place shook.

#

Hadvar knew he couldn't have been fighting that long, but it certainly felt like an eternity. His arms were covered with burns from spiders' poison, and the sword felt almost too heavy to keep swinging. He still tried, but the remaining two spiders must have felt that he was at the end of his strength, and attacked harder, even if both were missing a leg or two.

And then there was a lightning bolt. It hit one of the spiders, pushing it aside, and before Hadvar could process what was happening, a huge battleaxe slashed the last spider in two. The bear was obviously clever enough to wait until the spiders were gone, as it roared and charged at Hadvar, but the wielder of the battleaxe, a huge man in a worn-looking iron armor and no helmet, got between them. In a couple more strikes, the bear was dead, too.

"Wow!" Hadvar breathed out, sinking to his knees in exhaustion. "That was...some fighting. Who are you?!"

The man turned, revealing that he was definitely of Nordic descent, but something in his features was different, softer somehow. At least, as far as Hadvar could see in the dim light of the cave.

"Call me Hjalti," the man said. "And if you have questions, we should get somewhere... a bit less dangerous." As if to prove the point, a huge rock crashed on the cavern floor not too far from them.

A hand was offered to help him get up, and Hadvar winced as the movement unsettled his injuries.

"Yeah, just... give me a moment," he rasped, before closing his eyes and trying to remember what his mother taught him. For a second, he could feel warmth spread throughout his body, but then it was gone. Well, at least the burns hurt slightly less after that.

"You're a mage?" his companion inquired skeptically. Apparently, the spell he tried had lasted long enough to be seen.

"Hardly," Hadvar shook his head. "Just a weak spell my mother taught me to treat the scratches."

"Sometimes a scratch is all it takes," Hjalti noted, before whispering, " _Haas vokrii._ "

Immediately, Hadvar felt better, and when he looked, the burns on his arms were gone completely. His eyes widened when he realized what the last words sounded like.

"Was that a Thu'um?!" he exclaimed, forgetting for a moment the collapsing cave they were in, which got him an instant reminder in the form of a few more chunks of rock falling from the ceiling.

"I've spent twenty years on Monahven," Hjalti nodded. "I know my way around Rotmulaag."

"Er... Monaven? Rotmulag?" now Hadvar was confused.

"Let's get moving," Hjalti said. "We can talk on the way."

"Right. Oh, and I'm Hadvar." The legionnaire suddenly realized that he never gave his own name. Hjalti nodded with an amused smile, saying nothing.

#

Luckily, the cave didn't collapse on them, and by the time they emerged on the mountain slope, the dragon was only a shadow in the distance.

"It's heading north," Hadvar noted. "We should go to Riverwood, see if Ralof made it, or warn them, at least."

"It's flying," Hjalti commented. "We'd never make it if that thing is going to attack the town."

"Riverwood is small. Maybe it wouldn't notice it from up there." Hadvar hoped it would be that way. "We should go anyway. My uncle is the blacksmith in the town, he might have some supplies we could use."

"Lead the way," Hjalti nodded. "I haven't been in these parts for years."

"Right, you said you were on... Monaven, was it?" Hadvar decided that it was safe enough to give in to curiosity.

"Monahven, or the Throat of the World, yes," Hjalti confirmed. "But I haven't been there for a long time, what with the war and Thalmor."

"You fought in the Great War?!" Hadvar blurted. "You must be older than you look. Sure you've no elven blood in you?"

"Quite sure," Hjalti chuckled, amused at Hadvar's surprise. "But the Thu'um is powerful magic. One of the Greybeards is over four hundred years old. Though that's a stretch even for them."

"Huh, must be interesting."

"Very. Though, other than Arngeir, they don't speak much. With how much they dedicate themselves to studying the Thu'um, even plain speech can be... dangerous."

"What, they can shake the mountain just by speaking?"

"Yes, actually. It happened a couple of times when I was there."

They walked in silence for a while, until a thought occurred to Hadvar.

"Hey, is that true what they say about Ulfric?" he asked. "That he was supposed to become a Greybeard himself?"

"It might have been," Hjalti shrugged. "I've seen him at High Hrothgar, before the war. He didn't strike me as a particularly wise young man."

"Guess he didn't change much, then," Hadvar chuckled. "This uprising of his doesn't look like a particularly wise thing either."

Hjalti didn't reply to that, but the silence didn't get uncomfortable.

#

The rest of the way was blissfully uneventful, except for the brief stop by the Guardian Stones, where they both touched the Warrior Stone, a fact which filled Hadvar with childish glee. He always liked when people made the same choices in these things as he did.

Riverwood was not as quiet as Hadvar remembered it. Hilde was crying on the bench by her house, repeating that she saw a dragon "big as a mountain and black as night" flying over the barrow, while Sven brushed her off.

"She's right, you know," Hadvar remarked as they came close. "A huge black dragon burnt down Helgen."

That got Sven's attention.

"Hadvar!" the bard exclaimed, recognizing him. "Aren't you supposed to be in Solitude? I thought..."

"I was, for a while, but the soldier goes where he's ordered," the legionnaire replied. "And today it was Helgen."

"Oh," Sven nodded. "Who's your friend?"

"His name is Hjalti. He saved my life when I was pretty sure I was done for."

"Hjalti?" Sven looked between them for a few moments. "Like Talos in the stories of Old Hroldan?"

"Yes, like that," Hjalti nodded, but Hadvar noticed how his face went blank when Sven mentioned Talos.

"Look, Sven, have you seen Ralof today?" Hadvar tried to change the subject.

"No." The bard shook his head. "Should I have?"

"He was supposed to come here."

"Well, you could ask Gerdur. If he's here, he would go to her. She's his sister, after all." With that Sven headed inside, leaving Hadvar and Hjalti to Hilde's crying.

"You are not wrong about the dragon, wuthvahdin," Hjalti said softly, crouching before the woman. "We saw him too."

"You need to warn the jarls!" the old woman cried. "We are defenseless here!"

"Don't worry, wuthvahdin, we will."

"What are you calling me?" Hilde asked with brows furrowed. "I've never been called that!"

"It means "old woman" in a... foreign tongue," the man explained. "I have a friend who speaks it, and he taught me some things. It's meant as a polite way to address someone that I don't know the name of."

"Oh. You should call me Hilde, then." She smiled at the explanation. "I'm not that old to be called that wuht... whatever you said!"

"Wuth-vah-din," Hjalti repeated, enunciating every syllable before smiling as well. "But I'm glad to know your name, Hilde. You should call me Hjalti."

"Your parents must have been devout, naming you after Talos himself," the woman commented. Her words seemed to call that carefully blank expression to Hjalti's face again, even if it was gone in a second.

"We should go see Gerdur," Hadvar interjected then, trying to not let the situation grow tense.

"Of course," Hjalti nodded. "Good day to you, Hilde."

#

In a few minutes Hadvar knocked on the door of a familiar house, one he used to be around a lot as a child. There was a sound of hurried movements for a bit, and then the door opened just a crack.

"What do you want, Imperial?" Gerdur asked as soon as she saw him.

"Hi Gerd," Hadvar greeted her awkwardly. "Is Ralof here?"

"Why, so you can arrest him for wearing Ulfric's colors?" the woman spat angrily.

"No!" Hadvar recoiled slightly at her anger. "Please, I know you don't like me anymore, but if he's here, can you at least tell us?"

"Like I would..." Gerdur began, but a voice from inside the house interrupted her.

"Let him in, Gerdur," Ralof called weakly, and his sister finally opened the door enough to let Hadvar and Hjalti enter, though her expression was anything but welcoming.

"Looks like I won't be going anywhere for awhile," Ralof said instead of greeting them, and it became clear what he meant once Hadvar got a good look at the man.

His left arm was in a sling, the right one completely covered in bandages, and a plank was peeking from the wrapping on his left leg, indicating broken bones. What was visible of his skin was covered in scratches, like he went through a very thorny and dense thistle bush.

"What happened?" Hadvar knew the question was not too clever, but he couldn't think of anything else.

"I tripped on a rock on that stupid cliff up the stream!" Ralof cursed. "Thought I'd take the shortcut. Guards heard, and got me here, but, well, you see how it went for me."

Hadvar remembered the cliff up the stream, and the thick growth of thistle at its bottom. That certainly explained the scratches.

"Look," Ralof continued, oblivious to Hadvar's reminiscences, "I'm not going anywhere in this state, and the jarls need to know about the dragon. I understand if you won't go into our territory, but could you at least get word to Balgruuf?"

Before Hadvar could answer, Hjalti stepped forward, whispering, " _Haas vokrii,_ " and for a second white glow enveloped Ralof. When it disappeared, the scratches were gone from his skin. Judging by his expression, other injuries were healed also.

"What did you do?" he demanded, turning to Hjalti. "Who are you?"

Hjalti opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he shook his head, an expression of dismay on his face.

"His name's Hjalti," Hadvar volunteered. "He found me in the cave when I thought I was done for, saved me from the last of the spiders. Healed me, too, the same way he just did with you. He could talk fine after that, though."

While Hadvar explained, Hjalti took out some paper and a charcoal stick from his belt pouch, and scribbled something on it. With a sigh of resignation, he handed the note to Hadvar, before taking off his knapsack and digging out what looked to be a journal of some kind and writing something in it too.

"I can't use the Voice too often," Hadvar read the note aloud. "I should be able to talk again in a few hours."

"The Voice?" Ralof asked, looking awed. "You mean, like the Greybeards?"

"I guess so," Hadvar shrugged. "He studied with them, or so he said."

"Great." Gerdur used the momentary pause to let everyone know her opinion on the situation. "I thank you for healing my brother," she bowed her head to Hjalti slightly, "but if you expect more of my hospitality, you're mistaken. This house is small enough with just the four of us."

"Yeah, I get it," Hadvar grumbled. "Let's go see if Uncle Alvor has some room."

#

Alvor had room, even if it was in the cellar, and he was far more appreciative of Hjalti's role in Hadvar's survival than Gerdur. He wanted to hear the story, of course, and his wife Sigrid had to stop him a couple of times to make sure that her guests had a decent dinner.

With Hjalti mute, all the talking fell on Hadvar, but he didn't mind. Besides, as he was retelling the events of the day, he realized that Hjalti hadn't actually been there for the most part. Sure, without him Hadvar wouldn't be here to tell it in the first place, and the legionnaire didn't forget to mention that, but most of the story was his alone. Well, and Ralof's, but that wasn't really relevant.

"The jarls need to know about this," Alvor said when Hadvar concluded his tale.

"Yeah, that's what Hilde and Ralof said, too," Hadvar nodded. "For once, Hilde's panic wasn't for nothing."

"For once," Alvor agreed with a chuckle. "They are right, though," he continued in a more serious tone.

"I know!" Hadvar cried in frustration. "But I need to get to Solitude and report that I'm alive, before they write me off and give my pay to someone else!"

Hjalti tapped his shoulder at that and handed him another note.

_"Come to Whiterun with me, I'll buy us horses there to go faster. I should have my voice back by morning."_

"Alright," Hadvar finally agreed, both to his uncle's urging and Hjalti's offer. "But we should leave with the first light tomorrow."

Hjalti nodded, and then Sigrid chimed in with the stories of life in Riverwood, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't do much, but Hadvar was grateful nonetheless.

It was only when he stretched on the bedroll in the cellar that everything finally hit him. The dragon, Helgen burnt, barely getting out. He wrapped the furs tighter around himself, but still he couldn't stop shaking. He could have died today if not for Hjalti. Hadvar was a soldier, and he knew that any day could be his last, but until now it had been an abstract thought. The brief skirmishes with Stormcloaks he'd been in were never that dangerous, and he was good enough with the sword to survive them, but how does one fight a huge, fire-breathing dragon?

He was still trembling, bits and pieces of the day's events flashing in his mind, when soft humming reached him. He turned sharply to the side where Hjalti's bedroll was spread next to the wall, the man himself stretched on it relaxedly. Hjalti's eyes were closed, and he didn't move or in any other way react to the noise Hadvar made, but the humming was definitely coming from him.

With a start, Hadvar recognized the old lullaby, the one that pretty much every woman in Skyrim sang to their children. His own mother's voice rose up from the memory with words he thought he forgot long ago, chasing away the visions of black dragon and burning Helgen.

Soon, Hadvar was asleep.


	2. Legionnaire: The Dragonborn Comes

They set out early in the morning, taking barely enough time to eat the breakfast Sigrid had insisted on.

"A lovely woman," Hjalti commented when they were on the road and out of earshot. "I almost envy your uncle a bit."

"Yeah, that's Aunt Sigrid for you," Hadvar chuckled. "When we ventured out to the woods as kids, she always insisted we take food with us. And she never scolded us for coming back after dark, not like Gerdur did."

"There's history between your families," Hjalti noted.

"Ralof and I used to be best friends growing up. Explored the woods together, trained to be guards together..." Hadvar trailed off, remembering. It was in these very woods, along this very road, that he and Ralof played as kids, and every turn of the path held a memory. A scraped knee here, an awkward fall and limping all the way home there.

"And then the rebellion happened." Hjalti's voice jerked Hadvar from his memories.

"Well, yeah. Thalmor, anyway. Ralof used to be sweet on a girl from Helgen, was making plans for the wedding, as soon as he got permanent posting as a guard. One day he went to see her and found that her whole family had been dragged away by those elves. He left for Windhelm after that."

"But you didn't."

"I don't think Ulfric is right. I don't like the Thalmor and what they do, but... The Empire started in Skyrim, kind of. Won't be right to abandon it now."

Hjalti hummed thoughtfully to that, but said nothing, and they continued on their way in silence.

Hadvar used to come to Whiterun's Harvest fair with Uncle Alvor almost every year before he joined the Legion. The road hadn't changed since then. Well, wolves were bolder now, or maybe they were just hungrier.

"Five!" Hjalti exclaimed, cracking the skull of the, indeed, fifth wolf they encountered this morning. "In what, two hours? Has this road always been this risky?"

"Not really," Hadvar shrugged. "Guess it's the war. When camped, we usually hunt pretty much any game we can find. Stormcloaks too, probably. Not much left for these guys."

"Too bad we don't have time to skin them." As he said that, Hjalti cut the wolf's tail and added it to the growing bundle on his pack, with a short prayer to Kyne. He seemed to ask forgiveness for killing the wolves.

"What are you gonna do with them?" Hadvar wondered.

"Don't know," Hjalti shrugged. "A collar maybe. Or even a cloak. With how many of them we've met just today, I'd have enough soon."

"Hjalti Wolf-tail Cloak?" Hadvar suggested a nickname for his companion.

"That's horrible, don't you ever call me that!" Hjalti laughed.

Laughter was a welcome distraction from the gravity of the situation, so for the next hour Hadvar tried to come up with increasingly ridiculous nicknames. Naturally, Hjalti rejected all of them, commenting that nearly any sell-sword in Skyrim could be called Spider-Vanquisher, or that his axe wasn't that big to merit the name Giant-Axe. That passed the time it took the two to reach the Honningbrew Meadery, which marked the outskirts of Whiterun city. On the turn to the Pelagia farm, though, there was something else that grabbed their attention.

Two men and a woman were battling a Giant there. As he had with the wolves earlier, Hjalti charged right in, surprisingly fast for a man his size wearing heavy armor. By the time Hadvar caught up, the Giant was dead.

"That was a mighty swing, man," one of the fighters, a man in ornate plate armor who seemed to be even bigger than Hjalti, commented as they all stood around the fallen giant catching their breath. "You should stop by Jorrvaskr, meet my brother Vilkas sometime. He uses a battleaxe too, you both could learn some moves from each other, I think."

"Maybe I will," Hjalti nodded. "We've got news for the Jarl first, though."

"Good luck with that," a woman with a bow said. "Balgruuf closed the court after rumors of trouble in Helgen."

"I bet we would get his attention," Hadvar interjected. "We came from there. A dragon burnt the city down yesterday," he explained as the three looked at him curiously.

"So that's what the smoke was from," the woman nodded. "You should hurry. We'll take care of the giant's body."

Hjalti nodded to the woman and clasped hands with the man in heavy armor, and then he and Hadvar went on towards the city gates.

#

From the way he looked around, it was clear that Hjalti had never been to Whiterun before. Were they not in a hurry, Hadvar would have indulged him, maybe even told the stories about how some of the carved pieces came to be that he knew of. But they needed to get word to the Jarl, and Hjalti stopping to stare at every decorated roof-ridge wasn't helping them get to the palace sooner.

By the time they reached the Wind District, Hadvar was ready to just grab Hjalti's hand and drag him along, but when they stepped into the Temple Square, Hadvar found himself just as frozen on the spot as his companion.

The Gildergreen, the majestic tree that stood in the center of the square, was lifeless, nothing like the glorious sight Hadvar remembered.

"They said it bloomed all year round," Hjalti whispered.

As if answering that, Hadvar heard Danica saying, "It was taken by a lightning strike," although, of course, the priestess wasn't responding to the warrior standing a good dozen paces away.

"Wish I had time to deal with it, but it's hard enough with all these wounded from the war," she continued, and Hadvar noticed a man standing beside her, a scowl on his face.

"Please, don't just let it stay like this. It's disgraceful," he demanded, but apparently he had been harassing Danica long enough already.

"I really don't have time to deal with you right now," she sighed with barely concealed irritation. "Please just let me get back to my work."

"But _this_ is supposed to be your work," the man insisted, and that seemed to have been the last straw for the priestess.

"Well, I serve the Mother of Men, and nobody's taken away my duty to tend to the wounded when this war started! If you don't like how Her storm has taken this tree, go to the Eldergleam and bring the sap from it, so we can revive its offspring! No doubt Kynareth that you worship will see this as a worthy deed!" With that, the woman turned and stomped off to the temple, leaving the man standing there gaping. After a moment, though, he collected himself and left the square, heading down into the Plains District. Briefly, Hadvar wondered if he was indeed going to go to the Eldergleam, but then their own quest returned to his mind, and he hurried across the square, only glancing behind to make sure Hjalti was following.

Before they made it into the Cloud District, however, they were stopped again. Next to the stairs leading up into the wealthiest part of the city there stood the statue and shrine of Talos, and though no one in the square was paying him any mind, Heimskr was preaching loudly in front of it.

"But you were once man!" the priest cried, raising hands to the sky. "Aye! And as man, you said, 'Let me show you the power of Talos Stormcrown, born of the North, where my breath is long winter.'"

Just like before when hearing mentions of Talos, Hjalti's face froze in an unreadable expression as he slowly came to a stop a few paces away from the preaching man. The longer he stood there listening, though, the more his expression changed, blankness giving way to poorly suppressed outrage.

"Look, don't listen to him, he's just mad, has always been." Hadvar tried to reason with his companion, putting a hand on his arm to guide him away, but the warrior just shrugged, and suddenly Hadvar found himself tumbling to the ground.

"Rise up, children of the Empire! Rise up, Stormcloaks! Embrace the word of mighty Talos, he who is both man and Divine!" Heimskr seemed to be wrapping up his speech, and Hjalti looked like he was going to strangle the man with his bare hands as soon as the words stopped, so Hadvar scrambled to Hjalti's side and tried again to drag him towards the stairs to the Cloud District.

"We don't have time for this!" the legionnaire pleaded. "We need to get to Dragonsreach and warn the Jarl about the dragon!"

Surprisingly, he succeeded this time, or maybe Hjalti allowed him to. The priest seemed to have started his speech anew, and Hjalti kept turning back to send him dark looks, but they managed to cross the final steps and start climbing the stairs.

"He's always been like this, at least, as long as I can remember," Hadvar attempted to explain. "Sure, after the Great War, he's always had the reason, I guess... but it's been so long, nobody's listening to him anymore. "

Hjalti didn't reply, and so they continued to climb the stairs in silence.

Dragonsreach was beautiful, even if it looked a bit more weathered than when Hadvar had seen it last. The carvings on the arch, the railing of the bridge, and the doors used to mesmerize him when he was a child visiting Whiterun for the Harvest fair with Uncle Alvor.

Now those carvings, while no less beautiful, were annoying, since they were what stopped Hjalti in his tracks, again. For a second or two Hadvar didn't notice, determined to get inside, but then the absence of heavy footsteps by his side caught up.

"Oh, come on!" the legionnaire exclaimed, turning back to find his companion examining the railing.

"Sorry," Hjalti muttered sheepishly as he hurried to catch up. "I haven't seen carvings like this before-"

"Yeah, I get it," Hadvar cut in, "let's go, we've got a Jarl to talk to."

Inside the Dragonsreach was just as beautiful as outside, if not more, with stained glass windows casting colorful light patterns on the floor, and the huge fire pit offsetting those with warm glow. Now even Hadvar had a hard time not staring at everything, having never been inside the palace before.

Luckily, Irileth spotted them as soon as they were on the top of the stairs leading to the main hall, moving to intercept them.

"Halt!" she demanded when they were a few paces away. "The court is closed. What business have you in Dragonsreach?"

"Housecarl," Hadvar greeted her, bowing his head slightly in respect, the way he saw the guards do. "We come with the news from Helgen. The dragon-"

"Come, the Jarl needs to hear it," the Dunmer interrupted, hearing the word "dragon", and turned to walk back to the dais where the Jarl was arguing with an Imperial man, probably the steward, if Hadvar had to guess.

"My Jarl," Irileth interrupted the argument, "these people say they have news from Helgen."

"You were at Helgen?" Balgruuf immediately turned to them.

"He was," Hjalti corrected with a nod to Hadvar. "I just helped him out a bit at the end."

"Is that where the smoke was coming from yesterday? Are the rumors true? About the dragon?" the Jarl asked, switching his attention to the legionnaire.

"Yes, my Jarl," Hadvar nodded. "We caught Ulfric, and General Tullius was determined to execute him. In the middle of it all, a huge black dragon appeared, breathing fire. Everyone ran. Half of the keep collapsed, and... I don't know who else made it out, but Helgen is just a pile of burnt wood and stone now."

"Did you see where the dragon went after?" Irileth questioned. "Did you notice anything else about it?"

"We saw it heading northwest, when we got out of the cave," Hjalti replied.

"I think it tried to talk to Ulfric," Hadvar added and Irileth shook her head.

"My Jarl, we need to send guards to Riverwood and Rorikstead," she told Balgruuf, and while her tone was respectful enough, it was clear her mind was already made up.

"But the Jarls of Falkreath and the Reach would see it as a provocation! They'll assume we've taken Ulfric's side and prepare to attack them!" the steward argued.

"Damn it, Proventus, I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send guards to Riverwood and Rorikstead at once," the Jarl ordered his housecarl.

She left with a perfectly proper "Yes, my Jarl", but Hadvar could have sworn she looked smug when she turned away. He wasn't given the time to ponder the relationship between the Jarl and his housecarl, though.

"You two," Balgruuf spoke, looking at him and Hjalti, "I didn't hear your names."

"I'm Hadvar, from Riverwood, my lord," Hadvar answered, surprised.

"I'm Hjalti," his companion followed laconically.

"I have a favor to ask," the Jarl continued, rising from his throne. "My court wizard has taken an interest to the dragons lately, and now it seems this matter should take priority. He'll be able to explain better."

Hadvar looked questioningly at Hjalti behind Balgruuf's back, but the other man just shrugged and followed the Jarl.

They didn't have to walk far, as the wizard's study was just to the side of the main hall. Hadvar looked curiously around when they entered, noticing the piles of books and papers on the desk, alchemy and enchanting stations, and a big map of Skyrim with some marks on it.

"Farengar," the Jarl called as they entered. "I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill them in with all the details."

The man in wizard's robes leaning on the enchanting table startled and looked around, obviously having been so immersed in his work that he didn't notice the visitors.

"Yes, my lord," he hastened to reply when his eyes landed on Balgruuf.

The Jarl chuckled and left with a muttered "Mages!" leaving them alone with the court wizard.

"So, the Jarl thinks you would be of use to me?" Farengar questioned, turning to them.

"Probably," Hjalti nodded. "Depending on what you need."

"Wait, wait," Hadvar protested. "I never signed up for the side quests! I need to get to Solitude, or the Legion commanders will write me off as dead! It'd be a pain to prove I didn't desert as it is, I don't need to deal with the bureaucracy on top of that!"

"I guess it will just be you then," Farengar turned to Hjalti. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name..."

"Hjalti," the warrior introduced himself. "And this is Hadvar," he nodded to the legionnaire.

"I'm Farengar, as you already know," the wizard replied. "So, about the task, I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a "Dragonstone," said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. It is probably interred in the main chamber-"

"What does it look like?" Hjalti interrupted. "This Dragonstone?"

"Well, it's a stone tablet," Farengar shrugged. "I am not sure about the size, but it is a map, and it should have some sort of marks for the locations of burial sites."

"Bleak Falls Barrow, it's the ruin across the river from Riverwood, right?" Hjalti asked Hadvar then.

"It is," Hadvar confirmed, shuddering. "Used to give me nightmares when I was a child."

With a nod, Hjalti took off his backpack and started searching through it, eventually producing a sizeable object wrapped in cloth and leather.

"Is this it?" he asked, unwrapping the object. Hadvar couldn't see it very well from where he was standing, but it did indeed look like a stone tablet.

"Yes! That's it!" Farengar exclaimed, reaching for the stone.

"I was there a couple weeks ago, and this thing looked like it could be valuable," Hjalti explained with a chuckle as the wizard took the tablet to his desk and immediately started shuffling through the piles of papers while muttering to himself. "I meant to show this to someone like him," Hjalti nodded at Farengar, "but never got around to it."

"Huh, guess we can head out to Solitude, then," Hadvar smiled, relieved that he wasn't sidetracked.

Yet before they could even leave Farengar's study, there was a commotion in the main hall, and then Irileth came running with a guard in tow.

"Tell the Jarl what you told me, about the dragon," she ordered the guard, and both Hadvar and Hjalti hurried to get closer. That sounded serious.

"Uh... right," the guard hesitated. "Over at the western watchtower. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen."

"What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?" Balgruuf immediately questioned.

"No, my lord," the guard shook his head. "It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life... I thought it would come after me for sure."

"Good work, son," the Jarl nodded. "We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it. Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."

"I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate," Irileth looked eager to go and fight already.

"Was it black?" Hadvar asked in a low voice before the guard left.

"No," the man shook his head. "More like grey-ish, or green. I didn't get a good look."

"It's another one, then," Hjalti voiced Hadvar's thoughts. "Not the one from Helgen."

"I guess not," Hadvar agreed.

"Want to tag along and see for yourself?" Hjalti smirked. He obviously was just as eager to go as Irileth. "I don't think my axe would be of much use while it's in the air. How are you with the bow?"

"I can shoot," Hadvar shrugged. "I don't have one, though. Lost mine somewhere in that cave."

"I should come along," Farengar interrupted them, apparently having followed and heard everything. "I would very much like to see this dragon."

"No, I can't afford to risk both of you," Balgruuf objected. "I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."

"As you command," Farengar didn't look happy about this, but still he complied, leaving for his study again.

"One last thing, Irileth." Balgruuf wasn't done yet. "This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."

"Don't worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution," the Dunmer nodded. "Are you two coming?" She turned to them, looking half-hopeful, half-suspicious.

"Doesn't look like you have many men for this," Hjalti challenged. "Just get Hadvar a good bow, and we'll go."

Before Hadvar could object that he didn't agree to this, both Irileth and Hjalti took off in the direction of the doors, and while he was worried about trying to fight a dragon after what happened at Helgen, he was curious, too. And maybe he could learn something that would help the Legion, he reasoned, following his companion and Jarl's housecarl.

#

There were no signs of the dragon when they got to the watchtower half an hour later, although all the signs showed that it had been there. It seemed like half of the tower was now lying on the ground shattered, and what wooden structures surrounded it were no more than burnt carcasses.

Cautiously, they approached, not trusting the dragon to have flown away, and were right. Hadvar just stepped inside the remaining structure, when there was a sound that he was sure he would not forget for the rest of his life. The flapping of the wings.

"It's back! Get to cover!" somebody cried, and Hadvar peered out of the doorway trying to spot the beast.

"Come on, you overgrown lizard!" Hjalti was taunting, waving his axe as if it was a twig. "Fall to me!"

The shadow circled over them, and the other guards shot at it, but it didn't look like the arrows had any effect. Hadvar hurried to join in, drawing the bow Irileth had given him. The Dunmer herself was casting lightning, and it seemed to be the only thing that affected the dragon so far, making it flinch and change direction.

"Aim for the wings!" she shouted, when the gush of wind from those very wings pushed her to her knees.

Hadvar tried to take her advice, shooting as fast as he could, but it was hard to say if any of his shots landed. Hjalti kept waving his axe and taunting the dragon, mostly useless just as he predicted, but at the very least it seemed to keep the dragon's attention.

Just as Hadvar thought it, the dragon Shouted, fire pouring from its mouth towards the ground where Hjalti was, but the man was quick enough to get out of the way. Then, with a thunderous thud, the dragon landed, roaring something that almost felt like words, but Hadvar didn't understand them.

Using the chance to aim better, Hadvar and the guards released the barrage of arrows, while Hjalti swung his axe at the dragon's head and Irileth let out another lightning spell at its wing. Before they could do much, though, the dragon took off again with a fire-breathing roar, this time turning its head and getting one of the guards that wasn't quick enough. The man cried in pain as his light armor caught fire and dropped to the ground, trying to put it out. Distracted by that, Hadvar almost missed his chance to duck behind the remaining tower wall when another stream of fire came his way.

Yet, it seemed their arrows and Irileth's spells were doing something. It almost looked like the dragon was struggling to stay in the air. Encouraged, Hadvar shot again, at the same time as Irileth let out another lightning bolt, and the wing folded, the dragon falling. The ground shook from the impact, making Hadvar stumble, but Hjalti, at least, was sure-footed enough to attack the dragon straight away, his strikes incredibly fast for a weapon that big and heavy.

Hadvar's quiver was nearly empty when Hjalti drove his axe through the dragon's neck, chopping its head off. The huge body collapsed, shaking the ground once again, the beast most definitely dead now.

Curious, they all approached the still body, poking it with swords and bows, as if the severed head wasn't proof enough of it being dead.

Suddenly, the dragon's body began to glow, sparks floating up into the air like from a fire.

"What's happening?" somebody cried in alarm, while someone else shouted "Get back!"

Hadvar froze in his spot, not daring to move closer, but unable to retreat. The glow was almost too bright now, and he could barely see Hjalti still standing near the dragon's cut neck. Then all the glow rushed into that figure, enveloping the warrior, and just... disappeared. The dragon's body was reduced to bones, but Hadvar barely spared a thought for it, as Hjalti collapsed to his knees with an anguished cry. That broke the spell, and Hadvar rushed to his companion's side.

"Man, you okay?" he asked, helping Hjalti back to his feet.

"Yeah, just..." Hjalti blinked, clearly disoriented, and shook his head, but then winced, as if it made things worse, and leaned on Hadvar. "They forgot to mention it's painful," he added through gritted teeth.

"They?" Hadvar asked, but one of the guards interrupted them.

"You must be Dragonborn!" the man exclaimed, staring at Hjalti. "My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in 'em. Like old Tiber Septim himself."

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons," another guard argued, but Hadvar didn't pay attention to him. There was that blank expression again, like Hjalti was trying hard not to react to the mention of Tiber Septim, same way he got when people mentioned Talos.

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot," the first guard parried heatedly. "They're just coming back now for the first time in... forever. But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one!" The guard sounded awestruck as he turned to Hjalti again.

"Yeah, just what I needed," Hjalti grumbled, straightening and stepping away.

The guards continued to chat about the Dragonborn and old stories, relieved to be alive after such an ordeal, until Irileth told them to stop "flapping their gums." Hadvar turned to her, intending to return the bow she gave him, but she just shook her head.

"Keep it," she said, turning back to look over the ruined tower. "Looks like you might need it more than that sword in the coming days."

Quickly thanking her, Hadvar hurried to catch up to Hjalti, who was already walking back towards the city.

That was when the ground shook, and a thunder that felt like a voice sounded all around them.


	3. Legionnaire: Ignoring the Greybeards

At least this time Hadvar knew what was happening. Hard to live in Skyrim and not know the stories about Greybeards, with the Throat of the World that could be seen from pretty much everywhere in the province.

"That's Greybeards' summon," he said when he caught up with Hjalti, but the other man only grunted in response, sounding rather dismayed.

"But why would they summon you?" Hadvar continued, more thinking aloud than anything. "Don't they know it's you already?"

This time, though, he got a reply.

"They don't," Hjalti said. "They've heard the dragon's soul being absorbed, things like that resonate throughout the world. But they can't know who exactly did it."

"So you'll have to go up there?"

"Eventually. High Hrothgar isn't exactly one of my favorite places."

Something in the way Hjalti said that made Hadvar rethink recent events. Hjalti definitely knew what awaited him at High Hrothgar. He didn't look very pleased with that. And that blank look he got whenever hearing someone mentioning any of the names of Talos, nagging in the back of Hadvar's mind since he first saw it.

"You're Dragonborn," Hadvar stated, coming to a sudden realization.

"Yes," Hjalti nodded.

"You knew it, before that light came out of the dragon's body and into yours, before the summons," Hadvar continued.

"I did," was another short answer.

"And your name is Hjalti."

"It is."

"Who are you?" Hadvar demanded, each answer making him more sure that his guess was correct. There were stories claiming that before he took the name Stormcrown, Talos was called Hjalti Early-Beard.

"Do I really need to answer?" his companion sighed.

"Yes."

Their eyes met, and for a second Hadvar felt like Hjalti's blue eyes stared into his very soul.

"You already know," Hjalti finally said, all the confirmation Hadvar needed. "And I'd be rather grateful if you kept that knowledge to yourself."

"But... why? How?.. Did it even really happen? What you told me about your history? High Hrothgar, Great War?"

"It did. Just... not to the same person you see now. It was still me, just... different me. It's complicated, and I'd rather not talk about it. Not now. Maybe later, but don't hold your breath."

Hjalti was Talos. That... Hadvar didn't know what to think. Part of him was whispering that it couldn't be true. Another part of him, though... For the first time since he joined the Legion, Hadvar was doubting his choice. If Talos was here, could it mean that the Stormcloaks were right? But then again, he wasn't in Windhelm, he wasn't with the Stormcloaks, and from their brief exchange on the way to Riverwood, he didn't seem to like Ulfric that much...

For a minute, Hadvar just stood there on the road, trying to make sense of all the jumbled thoughts in his head. Only realizing that Hjalti was still walking back towards Whiterun brought him back to reality. Right, they had things to do. He could sort out his thoughts on the matter later.

"So what are you going to do now?" Hadvar asked when he caught up.

Hjalti sighed, turning to look southeast, where the Throat of the World loomed.

"I don't know," he grumbled. "This dragon business doesn't help."

"Then you should probably deal with it quickly," Hadvar suggested, feeling sorry for the man. "Isn't that what you're good at?"

"That was over six hundred years ago. Things change."

"Well, you promised me a horse to get to Solitude. I even have that in writing!" Hadvar reminded him, trying to ease some of the tension that settled over them. "Maybe you can figure something out on the way there."

"Right, I did," Hjalti chuckled mirthlessly. "Wouldn't do to not keep a promise, then. And we should probably tell the Jarl what happened at the watchtower."

#

The way from city gates to Dragonsreach was accompanied by murmurs and gazes of what felt like the whole town. All remaining guards seemed to have gathered on the west wall, trying to see what was going on at the watchtower, and quite a few younger citizens were there too. Only Heimskr didn't take part in all that, using what he knew of the events to enrich his proclamations. Hjalti growled lowly, but thankfully didn't try to do anything as they passed the priest. Hadvar chuckled, wondering what the priest would say if he knew.

Inside the palace it was more of the same, and even the Jarl was discussing the very same topic with a man who Hadvar believed was his brother.

"You heard the summons," they heard Balgruuf say. "What else could it mean?"

"But this hasn't happened in ... centuries, at least," the other man countered. "Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

"Why Atmora?" Hjalti grumbled under his breath, so that only Hadvar walking next to him could hear.

"Isn't it where...?" The legionnaire tried to ask, but just then Balgruuf noticed them approaching.

The Jarl rose from his throne and took a few steps towards them, a mix of worry and curiosity on his face.

"What happened? Was there a dragon? Did you kill it?" he questioned them as soon as they were close enough, not even giving them time to answer any of his questions properly.

"The watchtower was destroyed when we got there," Hjalti... reported; there was no other word for it. Hadvar knew that kind of talk well, but hearing it from Hjalti, now that he knew _what_ Hjalti was... "Strange" barely began describing it.

While Hadvar was busy being surprised, Hjalti kept talking.

"Then the dragon himself showed up. We killed him. Two guards got burned pretty bad. Irileth stayed behind to assess damage and see to the injured."

"Did... anything else happen?" Balgruuf asked when Hjalti fell silent, and Hadvar realized that nothing was said about the light Hjalti absorbed from the fallen dragon.

"I'm Dragonborn." Hjalti sighed like it was a burden or a disease, not an incredible power.

"Dragonborn? So that's true, that was the Greybeards summon that we've heard?"

"Yes, it's true and yes, it was," Hjalti sighed again.

"That's a great power, my friend," Balgruuf said, but before he could add anything else, Hjalti exploded.

"That's a damn curse, that's what it is!" he cried angrily, loud enough that everyone in the main hall had probably heard him. "It's not just some abstract "power", it's a dragon's soul, everything that he was, his strengths, weaknesses, memories, desires, hatred! Thank the Divines, Jarl, that you never have to experience that!"

Balgruuf looked like he had an angry retort on the tip of his tongue, but just as quickly Hjalti calmed down. It sounded like he muttered something under his breath, but Hadvar didn't catch the words, and then the warrior looked at the Jarl and spoke again.

"Forgive me, Jarl," he said, bowing his head slightly. "That was not the most pleasant experience I had to live through. I apologize for my outburst, it was uncalled for."

That was smooth, Hadvar had to admit, and it obviously worked, 'cause when he spoke next, Balgruuf didn't sound anywhere near as angry as he looked mere moments ago.

"Whatever you think about it, the dragon is dead, and it might have been far worse without you there," the Jarl stated. "Whiterun is in your debt."

"Whiterun doesn't owe me anything," Hjalti protested.

"Your actions still deserve a reward," the Balgruuf insisted nonetheless. "Although with the war going on, there isn't much I can give, it seems, except for a title that, honestly, doesn't hold much meaning these days. But at least as Thane, which you now are, you can buy a house in the city, and have a personal housecarl to accompany you on your travels," he paused to look around, and then called, "Lydia!"

A Nord woman in steel armor approached them.

"You called, my Jarl?" she asked, bowing her head to Balgruuf.

"Commander Caius told me you're due for promotion, but he didn't have a position for you. Hjalti here has just become Thane of Whiterun and needs a housecarl."

"I don't need one," Hjalti grumbled, but both the Jarl and the woman ignored him.

"As you command, my Jarl," she responded, bowing her head again before turning to Hjalti.

"Oh, and this, your badge of office," Balgruuf added almost as an afterthought as he took a big, rather intricately decorated battleaxe from a center of a nearby weapons stand. "Might be a bit better than the one you're carrying now," he commented handing Hjalti the weapon.

That seemed to be a much more suitable reward, at least judging by the immediate change in Hjalti's expression, and Hadvar chuckled inwardly. Hjalti's mood seemed to change with the wind, what with first his almost proper Legion-style report, then an outburst about Dragon Blood being a curse, and now the child-like glee upon getting a new toy.

Meanwhile the man himself was examining his new weapon, having already handed the old axe to Lydia.

"I'm more the sword-and-shield fighter, my thane," she commented, taking the weapon. "I'd have no use for this."

"Well, then stuff it somewhere or sell it, I don't care," Hjalti shrugged, slowly swinging his axe this way and that, careful about people gathered around. "High time I replaced it anyway."

It started to look like Hjalti was contemplating a sparring match with Lydia to test his new weapon, so Hadvar decided to intervene.

"Could you maybe figure out your new axe later?" he asked. "We should head out if we want to get to Solitude anytime soon."

"Right, of course," Hjalti nodded, placing the axe in the holder on his back.

"Will you need my assistance, my Thane?" Lydia asked then.

"No, I don't think so," Hjalti shook his head. "Maybe some other time," he added when Lydia's face fell a bit.

"As you wish, my Thane. I will remain in Dragonsreach for the time being," she replied evenly, and turned to go.

#

The guards were too well-trained in Dragonsreach, but Hadvar still caught a few curious glances while they passed through the hall and out of the palace.

As they walked silently down the steps to the Wind District, Hadvar was starting to hope they would get out of the city and on the road without more delays. But, once they approached the statue of Talos, and Hjalti's shoulders tensed at the sound of Heimskr's sermon, he realized he had been too optimistic.

"Talos the unerring! Talos the unassailable!" the priest proclaimed, and that turned out to be what finally got to Hjalti.

"He was not!" he cried nearly in the priest's face. "Talos made mistakes, lots of them, would have made more if not for advice of a friend! He was a man, as you rightfully claim, and no man is unerring or unassailable! He made mistakes, and regretted them when he knew them for mistakes they were! You condemn Thalmor for hatred of men, but remember the history, priest, remember how your beloved Talos brought Summerset into the Empire, before you claim that their hatred is baseless. They have skin of another color, and ears of another shape, but they were once just where you are now, their priests calling for the prayers to their true gods and their children to rise and overthrow the tyranny brought on by the Brass God. Talos himself made this bed for his Empire, and be thankful that at least Mede was good enough to save you from lying in it! Read your books, priest, before preaching about what your god wants his people to do!"

His whole demeanor changed as he was talking: gone was a good-natured fighter that saved Hadvar from the spiders and healed him and his friend at the cost, however temporary, of his own voice, and someone... something else took his place, something bigger than Hadvar could comprehend. The man who knew what he had done, who knew the cost of his mistakes, how much others had to pay for them, and yet strong enough to admit those were mistakes, but that was only part of it. For a few moments, Hadvar could have sworn he saw a grand glowing figure in the place of his companion, though if asked, he wouldn't have been able to find the words to describe it properly.

"Blasphemy!" Heimskr's voice brought Hadvar back to reality. "Blasphemy and heresy! Are you with those damned elves that can't count to nine?! Go to the masters you serve, heathen, for Heimskr of Whiterun will never accept your heresy, like no true son of Skyrim will bow head to the elven tyrants!"

Suddenly, all the grandeur that was there a minute ago vanished, leaving a man disappointed by the world and people in it.

"Your funeral," Hjalti muttered, turning and heading to the Plains District through the crowd that gathered around the square.

People stepped out of his way, Hadvar noticed, but didn't seem in a hurry to listen to once again preaching Heimskr. Instead, they were more intent on watching the man with the Axe of Whiterun on his back.

When Hadvar finally caught up, they were in the market square. It was mostly empty as people gathered under the Gildergreen to listen to an annoying priest being shouted at.

"I told you he was mad," Hadvar muttered apologetically as they stepped under the awning of the Belethor's store.

"He's not mad," Hjalti shook his head. "Misguided, not knowing what he's saying, but he's not mad. Sheogorath hasn't come anywhere near him, that man just chose the wrong god to preach for."

Before Hadvar could ask what he meant, Hjalti opened the door to the store and they were greeted by Belethor's utterly insincere voice.

"How much for a tent and two bedrolls?" Hadvar interrupted the shopkeeper's speech praising his goods.

"Two hundred," was immediate answer accompanied by a calculating look from the Breton.

"What will this get us, then?" Hjalti asked, emptying a small satchel he got out of his backpack over the counter.

Jewelry, mostly rings and a couple of necklaces, with some loose gems, scattered across the surface making Belethor whistle.

"This... this, my friend, will get you quite a bit more than a tent and two bedrolls," he drawled, sorting the items into groups, examining each of them quickly but knowingly. "Goods you asked, and twelve hundred in gold," he concluded finally.

"Fifteen hundred and goods," Hjalti countered immediately. "The necklaces alone would be seven hundred, don't tell me all the rings and gems are just five, I'm not that clueless."

"Huh, a merchant, are you now?" Belethor sneered. "Thirteen hundred, no more."

"Wandered enough east and west of Alcair to know what's what," Hjalti retorted with a predatory smile. "Fifteen hundred, tent and bedrolls, and that pelt from the top shelf. _Thaar_."

The last word was whispered in the same manner that Hjalti sounded when he healed Hadvar and Ralof, and the shopkeeper blinked, before repeating the named price and counting out the coin with a blank look. He got the tightly rolled tent and two bedrolls, and dragged the snow sabre cat pelt from the shelf Hjalti pointed at, putting it all on the counter before them, right next to the gems and jewelry.

"Have a nice day," Hjalti smiled that teeth-baring smile again, before grabbing their goods and heading out.

"Pleasure doing business with you!" the Breton called after them, like he wasn't just talked into a lesser deal than he wanted.

"What was that word?" Hadvar asked quietly when they were again in the market square.

"'Obey,"" Hjalti's curt reply sounded like it was a curse rather than command. "Useful for traders that think I'm too dumb to know the value of the goods. Quite a lot of them in Skyrim, it seems. Don't worry, I don't do that to my friends," he added after a glance at Hadvar's no doubt wary expression.

"Good to know," the legionnaire mumbled, not at all reassured. Stories didn't mention anything like that, but it did sound like people were very eager to obey Tiber Septim's commands.

They got to the stables in silence, Hjalti's mood clearly still sour after the dragon's soul and Heimskr. Luckily, there were two horses for sale there, the price was reasonable, and, more importantly, Hjalti had enough gold to buy them, so even though it was already evening, they got into the saddles and rode west.

As the road led them past the ruined watchtower and dragon's skeleton, Hadvar's curiosity finally got the better of him.

"Why didn't you Shout?" he asked, nodding to the skeleton.

"I did," Hjalti shrugged, not looking away from the road. " _Battle Fury_ , a Shout that lets us attack faster. Most of the Shouts I know aren't really effective against dragons."

"How do you know? Wasn't that the first one you fought?"

"It wasn't."

"Really? How come there are no stories about it?" Not that Hadvar knew many stories about Tiber Septim, but he was sure that something like this would have been widely known.

"Well, I didn't kill that dragon."

"Wait, was it that..." Hadvar tried to remember the name of the red dragon that was rumored to have served in Tiber Septim's army. "Nahfa... the one with that long Cyrod-like name?" he finally asked, giving up.

"Nahfahlaar," Hjalti corrected him with a chuckle. "Don't ask me why he chose to change his name. Maybe because nobody was able to call him properly anyway, there were no other Tongues in our army by then."

"By then? So there were before?"

"It wasn't the Greybeards that first taught me to Shout," Hjalti shrugged again, and it seemed like he didn't really want to talk about that. "Though most of what I know now wasn't learned in Mundus," he added, making Hadvar blink. It had somehow slipped his mind that his companion had spent most of the last six hundred years among Divines.

"So what, you bested that dragon and he decided to serve you?" Hadvar tried to return to a somewhat easier topic, but was disappointed.

"Pretty much," was the only reply he got before Hjalti spurred his horse and rode ahead.

#

They kept riding until it was too dark, trying to cover as much distance as they could, but they had to stop and camp for the night eventually. As the fire was lit and they set the little tent up, Hjalti volunteered for the first watch.

Hadvar happily agreed, being used to second and third night shifts in the Legion, but when he stretched in his bedroll, sleep eluded him again. Through the half-open flap of the tent he could see Hjalti on the other side of the fire, swinging his new axe, clearly trying to get used to the weapon. Hadvar always preferred sword and shield himself, but he knew enough about two-handed weapons to recognize some of the moves. Most of them, though, were not something he'd ever seen.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" he called finally, when it was clear he wouldn't be able to fall asleep anytime soon.

"Alcair, where else," Hjalti replied, not stopping. He wasn't even out of breath.

"Alcair?" Hadvar asked. He vaguely remembered the name, probably from some book he'd read, and remembered that Hjalti had mentioned it when haggling with Belethor, but that was it.

"Ah, right, they disbanded in the middle of the Third Era." Hjalti finished another series of swings and came to sit by the tent, his back to the fire. 

"Used to be a famous chapter of the Fighters' Guild," Hjalti continued. "A lot of people came there looking to learn and earn glory. I was lucky to be born in the city, and with my father in the guild, it was pretty much decided. I started training soon after my eighth name day."

"That's early," Hadvar commented. He had started training with the guards when he was fourteen.

"Well, I didn't show any talent for magic," Hjalti chuckled. "Guess mother was disappointed, her whole family were mages, and there I was, her only child, unable to even conjure a light."

Hadvar nodded, before the thought occurred to him. "You cast lightning bolt in the cave," he said, looking at the warrior questioningly.

"No need to know magic to use a scroll," the man shrugged.

"The Thu'um is magic," Hadvar pointed out what Hjalti himself said just yesterday on their walk to Riverwood.

"That's different. Dragon Blood makes it part of my nature, my very being," Hjalti explained. "To dragons, speech and magic are the same, and as Dragonborn, I have that. But magic as Galerion made it is beyond me."

He kept talking, telling the tales of his youth in the guild, of his friend Hargan that died in the Battle of Old Hroldan, of his service to Cuhlecain.

When sleep finally claimed Hadvar that night, he dreamed of going into battle under the command of the god he hadn't openly prayed to in years.


	4. Legionnaire: Making Friends

Hjalti woke him up a couple hours after midnight, judging by the stars they could see through the gaps in the clouds, and promptly fell asleep himself as soon as he got to his bedroll. They didn't really need two of those, Hadvar realized, if they were going to sleep in shifts, but the things were already bought.

The rest of the night passed quietly, the distant howls of the wolves not coming near enough to make him worry. A deer came close in the dim light of dawn, and Hadvar shot it, remembering that they didn't buy food in the city, and not wanting to just take whatever supplies Hjalti had.

He had skinned the deer by the time Hjalti woke up an hour after sunrise, and they cooked some of the meat for breakfast. Hjalti again muttered a quick prayer to Kyne, asking for forgiveness, and Hadvar added his own silent prayer to that. At least the wolves he heard in the night might find the rest of the carcass, so maybe the goddess wouldn't be too angry with them.

Before long, they were on the road again.

They passed Rorikstead without stopping sometime in mid-afternoon, and Hadvar started to hope they could get to Solitude by night.

About an hour after Shoal's Rest, though, Hjalti slowed his horse, frowning, and then sent it into a gallop. Slightly dumbfounded, Hadvar followed, and soon realized the cause of his companion's worries.

"Damn, not again!" he complained into the air, realizing that the outpost on the other side of the bridge was occupied by bandits. And that those bandits were currently in a fight with someone.

As they got closer, it became clear that the bandits were winning. Two bodies in shining elven armor were on the bridge, and another elf dressed in the robes of a Thalmor mage was on his knees, with a couple of bandits approaching, no doubt ready to kill him. Without thinking, Hadvar pulled his horse to a stop and drew the bow. It was harder to aim than from the ground, but the arrow found its target anyway, making one of the bandits cry out and clutch his shoulder. Not waiting for them to get closer, Hadvar knocked and let loose another arrow, but this one missed.

Hjalti was already in the middle of it, standing between the downed elf and the rest of the bandits that crowded the far side of the bridge.

"Come on, who's brave?" he called out, so clearly mocking that Hadvar was surprised any of the bandits fell for this. Yet they did, two of them rushed forward, both with heavy warhammers ready to strike.

"FUS... RO DAH!" Hjalti Shouted, and the bandits flew back, knocking down the others.

Hjalti didn't give them much time to get their wits back, and Hadvar managed to shoot just four arrows, only once missing, before it was over.

Catching the reins of Hjalti's horse, Hadvar rode onto the bridge and jumped down near the Thalmor.

"You alright?" he asked, helping the elf get up.

"I... I will be," the mage answered, reaching into a pouch on his belt and taking out a small blue bottle, the kind that usually held Magicka potions. Sure enough, a moment after drinking it the elf cast a healing spell, sighing in relief as the magic took away whatever pain he suffered.

He looked familiar, Hadvar suddenly realized, having gotten a closer look, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen this elf.

"We're heading to Solitude," Hjalti offered. "Could accompany you there."

"I... That would be appreciated," the elf nodded. "Though, if you could spare some time, I'd like to give my friends a proper burial."

"Sure. Might as well get those out of the way," Hjalti was already moving in the direction of bandits' corpses as he said that.

#

The elf, Lorcalin, refused Hadvar's help after they carried the bodies of the fallen Thalmor to the riverbank a bit away from the road, saying that Nords wouldn't know a thing about a proper burial.

"Like you wouldn't about Nords'," Hadvar muttered under his breath when he was sure the elf wouldn't be able to hear it. Though to his credit, this elf wasn't as arrogant as most of his brethren living in the Castle Dour, and his refusal wasn't said with contempt. So Hadvar left the elf to his own devices, and went to join Hjalti in exploring the outpost.

The bandits had managed to acquire a lot of things in the few weeks since the Legion cleared the place last time, and Hjalti didn't hesitate to put a few rings and a couple of finely decorated daggers into his backpack.

"Why even keep the place?" Hjalti wondered when Hadvar told him how this outpost kept attracting bandits. "It's perfect for ambushing travelers on the road, why not just raze it and get rid of the problem?"

"This used to be a guards' post," Hadvar shrugged. "But with the war, half the guards were conscripted into the Legion, at least in the Holds still supporting the Empire. Neither Hjaalmarch, nor Haafingar can afford to keep this place manned now."

"Still think demolishing it would be easier," Hjalti shook his head. "When the war is over whoever wants to can build the place anew."

"Yeah, well, be my guest," Hadvar chuckled. "It's on the border, both Jarls seem to think it should be the other's problem."

To his surprise, Hjalti looked around with a calculating expression.

"Shouldn't be too hard," he commented after a minute, before heading to a spot on the road just past the "guard" towers.

"Better get over here!" he called, when Hadvar didn't move to follow him. "Don't want you to get in the way!"

As soon as Hadvar was by his side, Hjalti drew breath and Shouted, "VEN... GAAR NOS!" 

The air whirled in front of them, forming a large cyclone that rushed ahead, right through wooden towers and ladders, tearing the structures asunder. In mere minutes, half of the outpost was no more than broken pieces of wood, barely usable to hold a fire.

When the cyclone dispersed, Hjalti followed its path, gathering bigger pieces of wood and kicking away smaller ones, chuckling when he turned and saw Hadvar's expression.

"Was this the one that you used at Old Hroldan?" Hadvar asked quietly when he finally managed to gather himself and joined Hjalti in clearing out the debris.

"No, _Unrelenting Force_ was enough to tear down the gates then," Hjalti responded in kind, walking to the far side of the outpost where a couple of large tents were still standing, as well as a table and a fire pit.

"What was that?" Lorcalin asked when he joined them a minute later. As Hjalti went about rekindling the fire, the elf kept glancing at the destroyed part of the outpost.

"A Thu'um," Hadvar explained. "Hjalti is a Tongue."

"A Tongue? Like ancient Nords?" Lorcalin asked, awed, but then suspicion crossed his face. "Hjalti?"

"That's the name my parents gave me," Hjalti countered, "and I'm not going to change it just because you Altmer don't like what another man with the same name did."

Hadvar cursed himself inwardly. He had completely forgotten that Hjalti asked him not to reveal his secret, and here he was, asking about things no man born in the Fourth Era was supposed to know, and with the elf nearby.

Said elf, meanwhile, looked torn between curiosity and the Thalmor agenda he was supposed to promote.

"Yes, I am a Tongue," Hjalti continued, taking pity on the Altmer. "And don't look at me like that, the art predates Talos, even if he gave it a bad name with your people."

"I just... Aren't you supposed to be on... that mountain, with the Greybeards?" the elf floundered.

"Been there, done that," Hjalti chuckled, putting the pot over the fire and digging through nearby sacks and barrels in search of something they could cook. Hadvar joined him, and soon they had a decent stew going.

"I spent twenty years on Monahven, er, the Throat of the World," Hjalti said to Lorcalin's once again questioning look. "Didn't see eye to eye with Arngeir, the leader of the Greybeards, so I left. Pretty sure they curse me as blasphemer now."

"Why?" the elf obviously decided to give in to curiosity.

"Because they believe that the Voice should only be used 'for the glory of the gods'," Hjalti quoted. "And I never shared that belief, and use whatever means I have to achieve my goals, like earlier. Far easier to use the Thu'um to tear down a bandits' hideout, than to demolish it by hand."

"Travelers not needing to fear the bandits would certainly agree with you," Hadvar smiled.

By the time the stew was cooked and eaten, the sun was too low, and with just two horses for the three of them, it made no sense to go anywhere. Hjalti offered to take the first watch again, and Lorcalin volunteered for the second, so he and Hadvar found the better looking tent and crawled into, thankfully, rather clean bedrolls.

This time Hadvar didn't have trouble falling asleep.

#

They were on the road again soon after sunrise the next morning, and even though they were on foot and leading their horses by the reins, Hadvar thought they would be able to reach Solitude around noon. Unless, of course, the gods decided to throw something else at them. But so far the morning had been quiet, and soon it was mostly habit that kept Hadvar on his guard. Traveling, even by roads, wasn't always the safest thing to do in Skyrim.

"So, you said you studied with the Greybeards," Lorcalin asked Hjalti at some point.

"I did," Hjalti nodded. "We disagreed."

"Twenty years is a long time to spend with those you don't agree with," the elf pointed out.

"Well, we didn't disagree immediately," Hjalti shrugged. "I was young and curious. It was quite some time before I realized I didn't want to spend my life on that mountain."

"So a potential Greybeard turned... what, a sell-sword?"

"I prefer 'adventurer,'" Hjalti corrected with a slight wince. Not many liked the word. "But, I guess that shoe fits, too," he added after a pause. Lorcalin only hummed at that, like he got the answer he was looking for.

It seemed like that was the end of it, but in a few minutes Hjalti evidently got curious himself.

"What about you?" he asked Lorcalin.

"What about me?" the elf looked startled, like he didn't think somebody could be interested in anything he did.

"What brought you on this road at this time?" Hjalti clarified.

"And that concerns you how, exactly?"

"Just curious. Ain't often that I get a chance to talk to a Thalmor. Mostly your peers on the road just tell me to go mind my own business. In a far less polite way."

"Not often that a Nord saves one of ours from bandits, either."

"Good thing I'm only half-Nord, then, eh?"

"You don't look the part." If he was surprised by this revelation, Lorcalin didn't show that.

"Nonetheless, it's true. My mother was a Breton, and you know what they say about Bretons."

"Find a hill, become a king?" Hadvar interjected with a barely contained laugh.

Lorcalin chuckled at that, and Hjalti outright laughed, loud enough they could probably hear him in Dragon's Bridge.

"I meant the one about never refusing a quest," the warrior said when their laughter died down.

"What about you, quaestor?" Lorcalin asked then, startling Hadvar. Few people outside the Legion recognized the ranks. "How do you find yourself on the road in the company of this rogue Greybeard?"

"It's a 'Tongue,'" Hjalti grumbled in mock annoyance.

"Whatever," Lorcalin waved a hand dismissively, already focused on Hadvar.

"Well, he saved me in Helgen," Hadvar replied shortly, not sure how much he could tell without revealing Hjalti's secret.

"Helgen?" Lorcalin wondered immediately. "What happened in Helgen?"

"A huge black dragon burned the city, that's what," Hjalti explained. "And the next day another attacked Whiterun."

"Dragons? Like we don't have enough to deal with!" the elf exclaimed. "How in Auri-El's name are we supposed to fight dragons?"

"Oh, don't worry, they can be killed," Hjalti shrugged. "Stuff one with enough arrows, and it will die like anything else. The catch is, they can be resurrected, unless another dragon or Dragonborn absorbs their soul."

"Dragonborn? Absorbs the soul? Like... in the legends? Like... Reman Cyrodiil and Tiber Septim?"

"Yeah. Like that." Hjalti's expression went blank again for a moment. Made sense, Hadvar supposed, that he didn't like to be reminded of the past.

They continued walking in silence, and it was a few minutes before Hadvar realized that Lorcalin never answered Hjalti's question. He was of half a mind to ask it again, but from the looks of it, none of his companions were in a mood for a conversation anymore, so Hadvar told his curiosity to go away. He would probably know soon enough, if his guess about the elf was correct. Rumors had always run rampant in Castle Dour.

#

The Gateway Square was crowded when they entered the city, and the rarely-used scaffold on the far side was occupied.

"About time they deal with that traitor," Lorcalin muttered under his breath after a quick glance at the unfortunate man in prison garb.

"Traitor?" Hjalti asked, keeping his voice low, almost too low to be heard in the buzzing crowd.

"Roggvir," Hadvar explained, finally getting a good look at people on the scaffold. "He was a gate guard, and let Ulfric in and out of the city."

"And that's a crime?" Hjalti blinked.

"Normally, no," Hadvar chuckled mirthlessly. "But that night Ulfric came to the city to challenge High King Torygg. And kill him."

"So they are making the poor guard a scapegoat," Hjalti nodded. "Guess things didn't change that much while I was... away."

"Roggvir. You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg," Captain Aldis announced then. "By opening that gate for Ulfric you betrayed the people of Solitude."

Cries of "Traitor!" were heard from the crowd, but it didn't look like they were what got to Roggvir.

"There was no murder!" he cried out over the ruckus. "Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat. Such as our way! Such as the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!"

"Kill him already!" a female voice rose over the square.

"Guard," the captain started to order, but before he could even finish, Roggvir shrugged the guard's hand off.

"I don't need your help," he said, kneeling before the block. "On this day, I go to Sovngarde."

The crowd cheered loudly as the axe swung.

"Barbaric," Lorcalin shook his head as the crowd began to disperse, before walking off in the direction of the Castle without another word.

Hjalti grumbled something along the lines of "puffed up snob," but Hadvar wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Although, he definitely agreed if the epithets were applied to the Altmer.

They walked together for a while, until Hadvar realized that unconsciously he was leading them in the same direction Lorcalin had taken, towards Castle Dour.

"Well, I guess this is it," he said, stopping across the street from _The Winking Skeever._ "That's the inn right behind you, Merchant's Lane and market square if you go further east. I'd tell you we'd welcome you in the Legion, but somehow..."

"Not something I see myself doing anytime soon," Hjalti interrupted with a smile. "Well, good luck then. Try not to get eaten by a dragon."

"Yeah, you too," Hadvar nodded.

"I'll try." With that Hjalti crossed the street and disappeared behind the inn's door. Hadvar stood there for a few moments longer, thinking over the events of the last week. He hoped this wasn't the last time he'd seen the man, but the future... suddenly seemed far less sure than it did a week ago.


	5. Housecarl: Climb the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm alive and still working on this! I've also got a beta who made a few good suggestions, so there are a few edits to the previous four chapters. Not big ones, nothing plot-altering =) Still, all hail Twist_Shimmy for the help I'm now getting with this story! =))  
> I'll try not to take another month for chapter 6, but Hjalti is still being uncooperative and taking quests I didn't plan to write, so it might be a while.

Nock. Inhale. Draw. Aim. Breathe out. Release.

The arrow whizzed across the range and hit the target a quarter-hand off the center circle.

After the dragon attack on Western Watchtower two months ago, Irileth had ordered everyone in the city guard to work on their archery, and even though Lydia wasn't on rotation anymore, Irileth's heavy look clearly meant that the order applied to her, too. So here she was in the training range, wasting time and arrows.

Nock. Inhale. Draw. Aim. Breathe out. Release.

Well, maybe "wasting" was too strong a word. Thane Hjalti was off on his own; he didn't have a house for her to look after, and he didn't leave any orders about what she should do in his absence, so really, Lydia didn't have much to do with her time now that she was promoted to a housecarl and taken off guard rotation. And most of the arrows she fired into the training target were perfectly fine to be used again, so that was not quite a waste either.

Nock. Inhale. Draw. Aim. Breathe out. Release.

When her quiver was empty, Lydia waited for the others to finish and then went to collect her arrows. Two of two dozen broke when she pulled them from the straw-stuffed target, the heads stuck inside. Could have been worse, the warrior thought to herself, settling back at the shooting line and starting again. She only struck the center circle half the time today. Irileth insisted that at least three quarters of shots landing in it was an acceptable accuracy. Of course, the Dunmer herself never bothered with the bow. Her own targets had to be replaced daily, burnt as they were by her lightning bolts.

Not for the first time in the past two months Lydia wondered if Thane Hjalti had perished in the wilds of Skyrim. True, he seemed to be a capable warrior, but she knew well how deceiving looks could be.

"You're distracted." Irileth's disapproving words, accompanied by a light kick to the shin, brought Lydia out of her musings. With a muttered curse, she looked at her target, where none of the arrows were in the center circle. And the quiver was empty again.

"You've been here all day," the Dunmer continued in a slightly softer tone. "Would be no use if you exhaust yourself."

Huffing at Irileth's clumsy attempts at sounding caring, Lydia collected her arrows and put the bow and quiver back on the rack.

"Guess you're right," she nodded to the other woman. "Permission to leave?"

"As if you need it," the Dunmer shrugged, already walking to another guard to correct his stance.

Two hours later, having bathed and cleaned her armor, Lydia was loitering about the lower level of Dragonsreach main hall, as had become her habit since promotion. The day was winding down, and people in the palace not important enough to dine at the Jarl's table gathered there for a bit of free wine and a lot of gossip. Lydia herself didn't have any juicy rumors to share, but then, she always preferred listening.

Although this time the usually entertaining pastime turned out to be boring. No runners came from other cities, and nothing really interesting happened in Whiterun itself, so people just repeated the stories Lydia had already heard.

One of the mercenaries from the Reach was telling, for the fifth time in as many days, about a house in Markarth that people believed was haunted, when the door opened. Naturally, all heads, including Lydia's, turned to the newcomer, looking for something else to talk about.

The man in a full set of Orcish armor minus helmet, with a battleaxe on his back and a sword on his hip, though, didn't seem inclined to share any news. Scanning the gathered crowd quickly, he immediately headed towards Lydia.

"My Thane?" she asked, having trouble reconciling what she saw with what she remembered.

"Lydia, right?" he asked in turn, stopping in front of her. "It was you that the Jarl appointed to be my housecarl, wasn't it?"

The voice was definitely the same, so Lydia nodded.

"Yes, my Thane," she added hastily, remembering the manners her adoptive father spent years drilling into her. "Do you require my assistance?"

"I do," the man nodded. "Meet me at the gates in an hour. Get a bow and arrows, if you have them."

"Yes, my Thane," Lydia bowed slightly, and turned to go back to the barracks. Behind her, the palace door opened and closed again, indicating her Thane's departure, and the crowd was a-buzz once more, no doubt making all kinds of outlandish conclusions from their short exchange.

It didn't take Lydia an hour to pack. She was already wearing her armor, so strapping on her bow and quiver, and then a sword and a shield too for good measure, took barely a few minutes. Putting some clothes, a coin-purse, and a few potions she was used to keeping on hand into a knapsack didn't take long either. Even stopping by the kitchens and getting some bread, cheese and jerky didn't fill the rest of the hour she was given.

So she wasn't surprised when she saw her Thane sitting on one of the benches around the Gildergreen. Or, rather, what might eventually grow into a new Gildergreen, Lydia mused. It was the talk of the whole city for a week, when a pilgrim came to the Temple of Kynareth, claiming that he had prayed in the Eldergleam Sanctuary and was given the sapling to replace the dead tree.

"I hope you don't mind me being early, my Thane," she called to the man when she came closer.

"Diligent, aren't you?" he chuckled, getting up. "Let's go."

"Right now?" Lydia couldn't help but ask, immediately wincing when Thane Hjalti turned to her. In a softer tone, she added, "Excuse me, my Thane, but the sun is nearly set. Is it wise to head out at this time?"

"Is it a housecarl's duty to question her Thane's decisions?" Thane Hjalti asked her then, tilting his head to the side, as if curious.

"Yes, if those decisions are against common sense." Lydia decided to be bold. She might have been eager to leave Dragonsreach, but that didn't mean she was going to go along with any stupid thing her Thane was attempting.

For a long moment they just stood there watching each other, and Lydia was beginning to think that maybe this wasn't the best idea on her part, but then Thane Hjalti laughed.

"Ha! I like you, woman!" he exclaimed after. "You're not afraid of rank. So, what is wise to do at this time, oh my housecarl?"

At least he seemed willing to listen to reason, Lydia thought, trying to ignore the mocking tone.

"Stay at the inn for the night, and head out in the morning," she replied, nodding in the direction of the market square where The Bannered Mare stood.

"Alright," her Thane agreed, turning to the steps leading out of the Wind District, and this time Lydia followed without question.

The crowd in the inn's main room left few seats empty, but that was hardly surprising. Ever since that Redguard girl took over the cooking, the food in the Bannered Mare had become another feature of Whiterun. Cotton fields, Skyforge steel, and food in the city's biggest tavern, Lydia smiled to herself. Not the worst a hold could be known for.

At least with the Harvest Fair long over, renting two rooms for a night was easy. Thane Hjalti paid for the rooms, and Lydia bought two bowls of stew while he inspected them.

The night passed quietly and much too quickly for Lydia's taste. It was still dark outside when her Thane woke her, but she bit her tongue and didn't complain. Ten years in the city guard had taught her to wake up at any time she had to, even if she didn't like it.

Seeing the streets dark and nearly empty was unsettling. Lydia had hardly ever drawn the night shift while she was still a guard. But she supposed she would have to get used to it, if her Thane kept such strange hours. And with winter at the door, the dark would only get longer.

Two men in armor were walking up the street from the gates, but Thane Hjalti passed them by with barely a glance, so Lydia didn't pay attention either. They were just past the forge at Warmaiden's when,

"Lydia!" a very familiar voice called after her.

Lydia sighed. This Nord was stubborn enough to follow them if she ignored him now.

"Excuse me, my Thane," she said, motioning to Thane Hjalti to go without her. "I'll catch up soon."

With a quick nod her companion went on towards the gates, and Lydia turned to the man who called for her, steeling herself for the upcoming conversation.

"Vilkas," she greeted him, trying hard to keep her tone even.

"Were you going to tell me you are leaving?" the Companion demanded without preamble.

Lydia shook her head. Some things never changed.

"Since when am I supposed to report to you?" she asked in turn. "Weren't you the one who said I was not fit for the Companions?"

"Damn, Lydia!" Unlike her, Vilkas didn't bother to keep calm. "We both know why I said that! It was ages ago, will you ever let it go?"

"And we both know that it's the reason we're not together anymore," Lydia retorted. "I'm not yours to demand anything from."

Vilkas' hand was reaching for her, but the words made him freeze mid-move.

"I'm not yours," Lydia repeated, and turned to the gates again.

"Could you at least tell me when you'll be back?" something in his voice made her stop and look back at him.

"I don't know," she sighed. "I'm a housecarl sworn to a Thane's service. I go where he goes as long as he needs me. You know how it is."

"Yes, I know," Vilkas sighed. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Lydia. Talos guide you."

With that he went on to Wind District and Jorrvaskr, leaving Lydia dumbfounded. It had been ten years since she tried to join the Companions and was rejected by him, because, as he tried to explain to her later, he didn't want to endanger her. She thought she had moved on from this, that she didn't need his apologies or his attention anymore. Apparently, finally hearing him saying "sorry" was enough to bring all the feelings she thought buried back to life.

"I don't have time for this," Lydia muttered angrily, and hurried after Thane Hjalti. He was leaving the city, so she was, too. That was all that mattered now.

She caught up with her Thane just before the lower gate, and for a while they walked in silence. Thoughts and feelings awakened after ten years' slumber still clamored in Lydia's head, but she tried hard to ignore them. Focus on the present, she told herself over and over, forcing her senses to stay alert and keep track of the surrounding landscape, even if hardly anything could threaten them in the farms near Whiterun.

It became easier to stay alert when they crossed the bridge past the Honningbrew Meadery. Lydia knew how dangerous this road was, with the Ritual Stone nearby always attracting necromancers. Just as the thought crossed her mind, there was a flash on the road ahead. She and Thane Hjalti drew their weapons at the same time, but where she slowed down, he rushed ahead. With a sigh, Lydia followed him to the unmistakable sounds of battle magic. Sure enough, there were mages near the Ritual Stone, a Flame Atronach somersaulting in the air next to one of them and throwing balls of fire at the other. All of them, though, turned on her Thane as soon as they noticed him.

Glad that she readied the bow instead of a sword this time, Lydia shot at the Atronach, but the creature dodged. Cursing, she nocked another arrow, but the daedra kept moving, zigzagging and somersaulting, not letting her aim properly. Then Hjalti was between her and the enemies, and before she could move-

"FO... KRAH DIIN!"

A cloud of ice enveloped the mages and the Atronach. The flaming daedra screeched and hissed, its eternal fire quenched, and the lifeless body fell to the ground. The mages stopped, frozen mid-move, a spell in the hand of one crackling as it dissipated. Not waiting for them to recover, Lydia drew the bow and sent the arrow into the throat of the mage closest to her, while Hjalti beheaded the other.

Lydia looked around, checking if there was anything else hostile nearby, and found nothing. Just three bodies: two mer, and a daedra. Tiny sparks were dancing over the Atronach's body, quicker and quicker with each passing moment. Thane Hjalti took a step towards the corpse, bending to look closer, and that was when Lydia remembered.

She grabbed her Thane by the pauldron and yanked him back, thanking the Divines that Orcish armor had so many ridges and her hand didn't slip. She half-expected that he wouldn't even budge, but she probably caught him by surprise, as they both fell to the ground.

The Atronach's body exploded.

Lydia had never seen that herself before. She'd only heard Farengar talking with the fascination he held for all things magical. The wave of fire spread out of the daedra's body, burning grass and pushing small stones away, but it stopped maybe a hand's width away from them and just... vanished.

For a moment, they stayed where they fell, their eyes fixed on the corpse, now completely black, before Hjalti got up with a groan.

"That would have been a nasty burn to suffer," he murmured, walking again towards the fallen daedra.

"Yes, it would've been, my Thane," Lydia confirmed needlessly as she got up as well.

While she checked her bow and the potions in the knapsack (thanking the gods for the foresight that made her pay extra for the thicker vials), her Thane examined the bodies of their enemies. A ring and an unlabeled vial from one of the mages found a new home in his satchel, as well as a small coin-purse from the other.

"They don't need it anymore," he shrugged when she gave him a disapproving look. Lydia just shook her head and wandered over to the Atronach's body. She distinctly remembered Farengar saying something about fire salts when he talked about these creatures, but no matter how she tried, she couldn't remember anything else.

After a few more moments she gave up, turning to her Thane instead.

"If I may, my Thane, where are we going?" she asked the question that had been buzzing at the back of her head from the moment they left Whiterun.

"Ivarstead," was the short reply.

"Ivarstead?" she echoed.

"I've delayed long enough," Thane Hjalti explained when she looked at him. "Time to find out what the Greybeards want this time."

"This time?"

For a moment it looked like she wouldn't get an answer, but then her Thane sighed.

"They summoned me once already, in my youth," he told her. "Let's go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can be done with it." There was a strange mix of urgency and reluctance in his voice.

Lydia looked around again when it was clear her Thane was done talking. She used to go hunting near Ivarstead with one of the other guards.

"There's a hunters' trail not far from here," she suggested when she saw the familiar marks. "We could cut a day of travel time if we follow it."

"A shortcut?"

"Yeah. Hugs the foot of the mountain, but it should still be passable."

"Lead on, then."

So Lydia led.

They didn't get to Ivarstead that day. The trail turned out to be more dangerous than Lydia remembered, with a couple of Ice Wraiths and then a troll attacking them at the worst moments. And though all three burnt under the power of Thane Hjalti's Thu'um, the fights took long enough. By the time the sun set, they had only just left the mountain slope, tired from walking and fighting. Going on in the dark wasn't very appealing, so they set up camp right there on the edge of the Rift's forest.

Getting to Ivarstead in the dim hours of twilight felt much easier than it seemed the previous night. They reached the village just two hours after leaving their camp, so Hjalti decided to go straight on to the famous Seven Thousand Steps. Those actually were just as daunting as the name sounded, especially with a pack of wolves attacking them on the way.

The monastery was... impressive. Its stone walls even from the distance looked thicker than those surrounding Whiterun, and Whiterun had pretty thick walls, even if half of them were in a poor state from the lack of proper maintenance.

The interior was just as grand, though too dark for Lydia's taste. A short corridor led them into a hall of some kind, illuminated by several braziers, yet it seemed like all the light was gathered in the center, leaving the corners shrouded in darkness. Lydia expected someone to be there, but the place looked empty.

"So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of an age." The voice echoed around the hall, startling Lydia. Thane Hjalti whirled around from where he was looking at the spot high on the wall.

"You called me. Well, I'm here now," he said after a moment to the old man that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It sounded to Lydia like he was going to say something else, but changed his mind.

"We will see if you truly have the gift. Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice," the Greybeard said then, and Lydia clearly heard Hjalti sigh at that. It seemed her Thane wasn't keen on showing his powers, even though she already knew he didn't hesitate to use them in combat.

"Don't worry," the Greybeard continued when Hjalti didn't immediately Shout. "Your Voice wouldn't harm us, or this place. It was built to withstand a lot."

"Not what I'm worried about," her companion grumbled lowly, so only Lydia standing a pace away could hear.

And then, he drew breath and Shouted.

"FIIK... LO SAH!"

As his voice echoed through the building, a ghostly figure appeared right in front of him. It turned, and Lydia was startled to realize that aside from the ghostly glow, it was the exact copy of her Thane. The figure drew an axe from his back and rushed at him, but before Lydia could step between them, the Thane's own axe flew through the glow, making the phantom fall apart and disappear.

"This... isn't what we were expecting, Dragonborn," the Greybeard commented then. "But your power is obvious. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

"You called me," Thane Hjalti shrugged, setting his axe back in the holder. "Everyone kept telling me that 'summons like that should not be ignored'. So I'm here. It was you that called, so it's probably me who should ask what you wanted. I didn't intend to have Dragon blood, not-" he cut himself off, like he almost said something he shouldn't. "It doesn't matter. I have my own thing to do in Skyrim, and Alduin isn't helping, so I need to deal with him. If you offer your help, I thank you, and if you don't, I'd rather be on my way to wherever I can find some."

As he spoke, the way Arngeir looked at him changed. Lydia couldn't tell what it was, but his expression was no longer so welcoming by the time her Thane stopped talking, and when he spoke again, his voice was a great deal colder.

"What is your name, Dragonborn?" the Greybeard asked, and upon hearing the short reply, continued, his eyes narrowing. "There was a man named Hjalti and bearing the Dragon Blood before. Over six hundred years ago. And by the accounts we have from the Greybeards of that time, he wasn't much different from you. If you wish for our help, you must pass a test. Bring here the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, from his tomb in Ustengrav. Then we shall see what we can teach you."

Thane Hjalti didn't reply to that. Instead he just turned and headed for the door.

Lydia had a hard time keeping up with her Thane while they went down the mountain path. She almost slipped several times, but it was only when he slipped and nearly fell off a cliff that Thane Hjalti slowed down enough for her to catch up. The sun had nearly set by the time they reached the place where they fought the wolves, and with a muttered "Might as well," Thane Hjalti knelt next to one of the corpses and took out a hunting knife.

As they worked on skinning the wolves, Lydia couldn't help but wonder what had upset her Thane so much. Their exchange with that Greybeard, Arngeir, seemed civil enough, if a bit cold at the end.

"You're upset, my Thane," she finally decided to comment when the man cursed under his breath.

"Really?" he drawled, not looking at her. "What gave you the idea?"

"Maybe the fact that you nearly fell off the mountain?" Lydia retorted, but got nothing else in reply.

"It's keeping you distracted, my Thane," she said after another minute of silence. "And it's never a good idea to wander the roads of Skyrim with one's head in the clouds."

"And what's it to you?" her Thane asked harshly.

"I'm your housecarl," Lydia shrugged, though he still wasn't looking at her. "I am sworn to carry your burdens. And I never thought this only meant material things."

"What, are you a soul-healer as well?" At that he actually turned to look at her.

"I'm not. But you can talk to me, Thane. I will listen, and maybe that would be enough."

"Stop that."

"Stop what, my Thane?"

"That. Calling me 'Thane" after every other word."

"That's supposed to be the sign of respect."

"Well, I don't like it, so you'd better respect that and call me by my name."

"As you wish, Thane," Lydia nodded, and then corrected herself, "Hjalti," when the man almost growled at her using the title again.

"I spent twenty years up there," Hjalti murmured after a few more minutes. "Seems things hadn't changed much. Arngeir certainly didn't."

"Do you think they won't help you?"

"Oh, but that's the thing! Arngeir thinks he _is_ helping. It's just..."

"Not the help you want," Lydia finished when he hesitated.

"No. It's not."

"Does it mean we won't be going to Ustengrav, then?"

"Oh, we will. For the Hall of Stories, if nothing else. The place is ancient enough to have one. Who knows, we might learn something useful there."

"Alright," Lydia nodded.

They finished skinning the wolves, but left the carcasses, as the sun had nearly set by the time they were done. Lydia made a mental note to tell the innkeeper in Ivarstead where they were so that people in the village could have the meat.

It was only when she was almost asleep in the Vilemyr Inn's surprisingly comfortable bed that a thought occurred to her. Arngeir had asked for her Thane's name, like he didn't know him. 


	6. Housecarl: Sidetracked

Thane Hjalti, as Lydia learned three days later, was not the most reasonable person in Skyrim. Because a reasonable person would probably not have gone to a place "not far from Morthal, on the eastern edge of Drajkmyr Marsh" by heading north from Whiterun. And a reasonable person would have probably passed right by an obviously crazy man in a jester's suit without stopping. And certainly a reasonable person would not have decided to camp for the night near the Weynon Stones, which were known for the Ice Wraiths always, always appearing there. Yet all that was exactly what Hjalti did.

True to their reputation, the Ice Wraiths had attacked them three times that night, and that was in addition to the three they killed before setting up camp. Lydia really hoped they would find an alchemist in Dawnstar who would want to buy the teeth. Even having those things in her pack was making her feel cold.

At least Hjalti was just as susceptible to exhaustion as she was, so convincing him to stay at the Windpeak Inn was easy. After the night disrupted by the Ice Wraiths and then a day of walking through the snow-covered forests of the Pale (because, apparently, it was too hard for Hjalti to keep to the road), by the time they reached Dawnstar there was little on both their minds but getting some warm food and falling asleep.

In hindsight, that might have been not one of Lydia's best decisions. The night they'd spent in Dawnstar's inn was just as restless as the one before it, if not worse. Even though she couldn't quite remember her dreams in the morning, they'd left her uneasy and more distracted than was safe, considering their quest. Hjalti, it seemed, had fared no better.

In fact, it looked like the whole town was plagued by nightmares, Lydia realized when she was awake enough. Several people complaining about unsettling dreams accosted the priest of Mara as soon as he appeared in the main hall of the inn. Across the table from her, Hjalti looked up from his breakfast, his eyes narrowed.

"Blessings of Mara," he called to the priest when the crowd dispersed.

"Blessings to you as well, child," the Dunmer replied with a nod as he stepped closer to their table. "Is there something I could help you with?"

"Sit with us, priest," Hjalti invited. "These nightmares are not a mere coincidence, are they?" he asked in lower tone when the elf took a seat next to them.

"No, they are not," the priest shook his head.

"A Daedra is at work here," Hjalti spoke even quieter, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had been paying attention to them. "Vaermina, if I had to guess."

The priest visibly shuddered at the mention of the Daedric Prince.

"There is a place not far from here that used to be a temple to her," he admitted. "I was hoping Lady Mara would help me cleanse it, but I'm wary of what might be inside. Perhaps if…." The elf trailed off, but it was clear as day he was going to ask for their help.

"I'm Breton enough to not refuse a quest," Hjalti chuckled, apparently coming to the same conclusion. "Name's Hjalti. And this is Lydia."

"I am Erandur," the priest responded.

Half an hour later, the three of them were climbing a snowy hill towards an ominous-looking tower. Erandur kept talking about it being long-abandoned before the Nightcaller Temple was established inside, and how it was overrun by an Orc war party. When they finally reached the door, the priest stopped.

"Before we go in, there is another thing you should know," he said. "Knowing they could never defeat the Orcs, the priests of Vaermina released what they call "The Miasma," putting everyone to sleep. I'm concerned that when this place is unsealed, the Miasma will dissipate and they'll awaken; both Orcs and priests alike. For them, at least for those that do awaken, it would be like no time passed. I don't think they would be able to tell that we're not with any of them."

"And that's why you needed our help." Hjalti nodded.

"Yes," Erandur confirmed. "Perhaps my prayers were answered and your reason for stumbling across Dawnstar is more than a mere coincidence."

Fighting through the Temple was not as bad as Lydia had expected. The Orcs and priests were disoriented, and made easy targets for Erandur's spells, Hjalti's axe, and her sword. Lydia wouldn't mind if all their tasks were that simple, but she knew how foolish the thought was. As if to prove her right, they came upon an obviously magical barrier that cut off the part of the Temple.

"Damn it," Erandur cursed when he saw that the way was blocked. "The priests must have activated this barrier when the Miasma was released."

"And there's no way around it?" Hjalti wondered.

"Not supposed to be," the priest shook his head. "Although... I need to check the library here. If it survived, we might have a way to breach this barrier."

Several corridors led away from the hall blocked by the barrier, but Erandur chose one of them without even the slightest pause. Lydia's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"How come a priest of Mara knows a Daedric Temple so well?" she asked when they dispatched the few cultists in the room filled with bookshelves.

"I suppose there's no point in concealing the truth any longer," the Dunmer sighed. "My knowledge of this temple comes from personal experience. I was a priest of Vaermina."

"Could have said so." Hjalti shrugged, like this wasn't news to him.

"And what would you have me say?" Erandur exclaimed. "Sorry for being an orphan taken in by the cultists? Sorry for living the only life I knew of? I'm not proud of what I did in this temple. I've spent the last few decades living in regret and seeking redemption from Mara. And by Her Benevolence, I will right my wrongs."

That, Lydia didn't expect. To tell the truth, she wasn't sure what she expected when she questioned Erandur's knowledge of the place, but not that.

"People change." Hjalti broke the heavy silence that settled over them following the priest's outburst. "We've come to help you, and we will. Tell us what we're looking for."

"A book called 'The Dreamstride.' The tome bears the likeness of Vaermina on the cover. It should be here somewhere."

Both Lydia and Hjalti looked around at the priest's gesture. Not much had survived the years in the room. What books she could see in the light of their torches and Erandur's magelight looked like they wouldn't even be good for kindling at this point.

"This library used to be filled with arcane volumes," the Dunmer sighed. "If you could check the balcony and outer shelves, I'll look in here."

As Lydia suspected, none of the books on the outer shelves were readable, but also none of them looked like they could have been "The Dreamstride.” Just as she was about to give up and ask if any of the others had had better luck, Thane Hjalti jogged down the steps to the main level.

"Found it!" he called, putting a thick tome on the table in the center of the room.

The cover indeed had an image of some strange being on it, though Lydia didn't know if that was Vaermina or not. She wasn't well versed in Daedric lore.

"Let me look," Erandur was already flipping through the pages. "I think it was…. Yes! Mara be praised! There is a way past the barrier to the inner sanctum. Vaermina's Torpor…. Blast! The page with the recipe was torn out!"

"Recipe?" Hjalti wondered. "Is that some kind of potion?"

"Yes," the priest nodded. "The Torpor grants an ability the priests of Vaermina called "The Dreamstride"; using dreams to travel distances in the real world."

"Sounds... interesting."

"To put it mildly. Sadly, I have yet to see it function in person. As a sworn priest of Mara, the elixir won't work for me. The Torpor will only work for Priests of Vaermina, or the unaffiliated."

"Then it won't work for me either," Hjalti shook his head. "I've got ties to The Eight."

"Which leaves me." Lydia decided to put aside the knowledge of her Thane's "ties" to the Divines, as well as the number he used. She could ask about it when they were done with this Temple. If she survived. "How dangerous is it?"

"In abstract, very. In a dream you can be subjected to a life-threatening situation, and there were instances when the subject never reappeared, or reappeared deceased. It is also possible to reappear in a hazardous location in reality, while within the Dreamstride the location was perfectly safe."

"So what you’re saying is, it really all depends on what dream is used," Hjalti summarized.

"Correct."

Apparently, she could only hope to not die in this dream she just agreed to subject herself to.

"If the book doesn't have the recipe, how are we going to get this Torpor?" she asked, trying to not concentrate on the possibility of dying.

"I believe there is a laboratory in this wing," Erandur replied. "If we proceed there, hopefully we'd be able to locate a sample."

The laboratory, conveniently located just a short corridor away from the library, also had Orcs and cultists awakened and fighting. Neither were an obstacle for two fighters and a priest who was, apparently, skilled both with a mace and fireballs.

Finding this "Torpor" potion was another matter entirely. Half of the shelves filling the room were broken, and those that still stood were covered with a thick layer of dust, making it hard to distinguish one bottle from another. The bottles, too, had suffered from the fighting that happened, both today and decades ago. Of those that hadn't shattered, most were at least cracked, their contents leaked out over the years. Some were intact, but upon uncorking produced the foulest smells, making it very unlikely they were still safe to drink. Alchemy ingredients gone bad added to the overall barely tolerable atmosphere.

After maybe half an hour of searching, they gathered near one of the alchemy tables. Three of the five bottles Lydia found turned out to be poisons that neither of them had any use for. The fourth, according to Erandur, used to be a Magicka potion, but now was useless slush. The fifth, still smelling slightly of snowberries, seemed to be some kind of resistance to elements potion. Hjalti's findings all looked like they used to be Stamina potions, judging by the forms of the bottles, except one that immediately drew Lydia's attention. That bottle was taller than the rest, and made of thick dark glass.

"Could this be..?" Lydia asked, showing the bottle to Erandur. A small metal plate attached to it instead of the label clinked loudly, and though the sound seemed innocuous, something in the way it echoed made Lydia shiver.

"Yes!" the priest exclaimed. "This must be it. I doubt any other potion here would have the Amulet of Vaermina as a label."

When he pointed it out, Lydia realized that the small plate indeed had an engraving on it, the same as the image on the cover of "The Dreamstride.”

"So, I just drink it, and wait for the effect to wear off?" she asked. This seemed too easy, even with the possibility of ending up dead.

"Not quite," Erandur shook his head. "You need to focus both on your current location and your destination. From what I understand, this should attract a suitable dream, or a memory, that would link the two and allow you to get from one to the other."

"Okay, so focus, drink, and try not to die in the dream."

"I understand your hesitation, but I will do everything in my power to prevent any harm from befalling you," Erandur reassured her.

With a murmur of "Talos preserve me," Lydia uncorked the bottle and drank.

Everything was too bright. Too bright, and strangely unfocused. Two men stood next to her, a Nord and a Dunmer, both dressed in the robes of Vaermina cultists. They were talking about the Orcs attacking the Temple, but Lydia couldn't focus on the words.

"And what about you, Brother Casimir?" the Dunmer asked, and Lydia realized he was talking to her. Or, rather, to this "Brother Casimir", whose place she took in the Dreamstride.

"I've made my peace. I'm ready," she answered before she could even think about what to say. Apparently, the dream didn't give her a choice in what actions to take.

"Then it's decided," the Dunmer priest announced. "Brother Casimir, you must activate the barrier and release the Miasma. Let nothing stop you. Brother Thorek, we must remain here and guard the Skull with our lives if necessary."

"Agreed. To the death," the Nord nodded.

After that Lydia could only watch through Casimir's eyes how the priest ran through the Temple, trying hard to avoid all the fighting, until he reached a place that she could vaguely recognize as where the barrier blocked the way. Casimir pulled at a chain attached to the wall, and then slipped a soul gem into a holder on the ledge next to it. The barrier started to form in the doorway, but before it blocked the passage completely, Lydia's vision went dark.

When the darkness before her eyes cleared, Lydia realized she was standing in the same place Casimir was before the dream ended, and that both her companions were on the other side of the barrier from her. It worked! Quickly, she pried the soul gem from the holder, and the barrier disappeared.

"It... it worked. Mara be praised!" Erandur exclaimed, rushing through the now open doorway. "You vanished after drinking the Torpor and materialized on the other side. I have never seen anything quite like it."

"How was it?" Hjalti asked, following him at a slower pace.

"Almost like I was really there," Lydia shook her head. "Too bright, though. And... things seemed... unfocused. I don't know. It didn't feel right."

"Well, at least it worked."

"We should not delay," Erandur cut in before Hjalti could add anything else.

Wordlessly, Hjalti and Lydia followed the dark elf.

Apparently, the strongest warriors of the Orc war party managed to reach this part of Temple before Casimir raised the barrier, because now Lydia had to put real effort into fighting them. Even barely awakened, they fought with the might and rage their race was famous for. Compared to them, Vaermina's cultists, even with their spells, were child's play. Still, by the time they reached what Erandur called "the Inner Sanctum,” Lydia was sweating in her armor and quite out of breath.

Luckily, the Orcs didn't get in here. From the large antechamber they entered, Lydia could just see the artifact that caused all this. "The Skull of Corruption," according to Erandur. But before they could get to it, two figures blocked the path.

"Veren... Thorek... you're alive!" Erandur cried out when they came closer and could be seen in the light of the torches near the entrance. Lydia recognized the Dunmer and the Nord from the dream.

"No thanks to you, Casimir!" the Dunmer cultist retorted. So Erandur was Casimir? It was his memory that Lydia got into while in the Dreamstride? For a moment, the housecarl just blinked at the revelation.

"I no longer use that name. I'm Erandur, Priest of Mara," their companion confirmed.

"You're a traitor!" the same cultist spat out. "You left us to die and then ran before the Miasma took you."

"I... I wasn't ready to sleep! I was scared!"

"Enough of your lies! I can't allow you to destroy the Skull, Priest of Mara."

Before Erandur could respond, the cultists attacked. Both were mages, and very strong ones, as Lydia realized in the next minute. Lightning bolts running through the metal of her armor was definitely not a thing she wanted to experience again. Of course it was just her luck that they used Lightning! Fire and Ice she could catch with her shield, but Lightning was just too quick.

That one strike, though, was the only lucky hit the cultists got.

"Erandur! Heal Lydia!" Hjalti commanded. "Lydia, you take the Nord!"

Healing magic enveloped her almost instantly, bringing relief from the heat caused by the Lightning, so Lydia rushed at the Nord cultist before he could use his magic again. Up close it was just a matter of keeping him distracted so he couldn't cast, and strike hard enough to get through the Flesh spell that he apparently had on him. That one was a nasty surprise, to realize that her sword barely made a cut in the cultist's skin instead of beheading him. Still, soon enough the fight was over.

"I... knew Veren and Thorek," Erandur sighed when both Hjalti and Lydia looked at him questioningly. "We were friends. Well, as much as the priests of Vaermina could be friends. Not being allowed much contact with the outside world doesn't leave much of a choice in relationships."

"Are you sure you want to go through with it?" Hjalti nodded to the Skull on the podium.

"Yes. This is the only way to rid Dawnstar of their nightmares. If the Skull remains in this world, it will grow too powerful. It will wreak havoc across Skyrim. I don't dare think what could happen if it falls into the wrong hands. Now, if you just stand back a bit, I'll perform the ritual."

From where Lydia stood next to Hjalti at the foot of the podium, the ritual didn't look like much. Erandur raised his hands, said a prayer to Mara, and then just stood there, staring at the Skull behind the magical barrier surrounding it.

"Oh, wow," Hjalti murmured at some point, and the next thing she knew, the barrier dissipated, and Erandur took a step forward. Only to stop and stare at the Skull some more.

"He's deceiving you," a voice suddenly sounded out of nowhere, making Lydia jump and her heart race. "When the ritual's complete, the Skull will be free and then Erandur will turn on-"

"Begone, Weaver!" Hjalti roared, and the voice faded, but Lydia's heart didn't calm.

"What was that?" she whispered, wary of distracting Erandur, even though Hjalti's shout clearly didn't.

"Vaermina," her Thane replied curtly, shaking his head.

Before she could ask for a better explanation, there was a blinding flash up on the podium, and when the spots cleared from Lydia's eyes, the Skull was no longer there. Erandur walked down the steps slowly, like this short time had robbed him of all his strength.

"Forgive me if I don't appear relieved," he sighed. "But this place... it has taken a toll on me."

"What are you going to do now?" Hjalti asked, taking a potion from his belt pouch and handing it to the Dunmer.

"To tell the truth, I'm not sure," the elf replied, taking the potion with a grateful smile. "I intended to establish a shrine to Mara near the entrance to this place, and then spend my days here, burying the past and praying for forgiveness. But now... I don't think I could spend any more time here without succumbing to grief. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe cleansing this Temple wasn't a way to redemption."

"But it helped Dawnstar!" Lydia couldn't help but exclaim. "Surely Mother Mild would grant you peace for saving them from the nightmares!"

"Maybe, maybe not." Erandur shrugged. "Divines work in mysterious ways. For now, I think I'll stay here. Bury the dead, see if anything in the vaults can serve a purpose other than Vaermina's rituals. You're welcome to take what you like. I can't really pay for your help, except with Mara's blessing."

Hjalti smiled at that, and Lydia suspected that being "welcome to take anything" was a big part of his good mood.

"Take care, priest of Mara," he said, before turning to go back through the Temple the way they came.

It was about two hours past noon when they emerged from the Temple. Plenty of time to find all the shops in town and sell the stuff that Hjalti decided to gather from the dead Orcs. Mostly swords and daggers, as those were easier to carry than warhammers and armor, but some of the invaders happened to have amulets and potions on them, too.

For a few coins, the town's blacksmith allowed Lydia to use his grindstone to get her sword back in shape, and some more gold bought a flask of oil to tend her armor.

Hjalti haggled mercilessly about each piece he was selling, but strangely enough, the more he did, the friendlier the merchants seemed to become. In the general goods store Lydia was surprised to find a detailed map of the Pale, and it was theirs for almost half the price the owner first asked for. Frida, the town alchemist, gladly bought all the Ice Wraith teeth, even if she had prattled on and on about some ring supposed to greatly enhance one's skill in alchemy. Lydia was very glad she went into her store alone. Considering how easily he'd got them into helping Erandur, Hjalti would certainly have offered to look for that ring.

With the Skull of Corruption gone, their second night in Dawnstar was far more restful than the first, and they were back on their way to Ustengrav early the next morning.


	7. Housecarl: Nordic Ruin, Stolen Horn

The first few hours after leaving Dawnstar weren't bad, mostly because this time Hjalti didn't mind keeping to the road. Even with the snow covering the ground, walking was easy. If nothing else, the Empire knew how to build roads. The weather was nice, too. Lydia was rather surprised when the sun rose in the cloudless sky. Snowfalls and blizzards were much more common this time of year.

When they left the road on the turn to Stonehills, things became harder. Apparently, the nice weather was a respite after some time of heavy snow, because in some places it was thigh-deep. And with the trees blocking the wind, the snow just gathered where it fell, so finding a walkable path was difficult. And as if that wasn't bad enough, there were skeevers. Maybe the nasty creatures were easy to kill, but on top of everything else they just served to annoy Lydia even more than she already was. Idly, she wondered what they ate out here when no adventurers came through the forest.

Judging by the sun, it had been about two hours since they had left the road, but it certainly felt longer than that. Lydia was relieved when they crested a hill and saw the open expanse of Drajkmyr Marsh below. Sure, the marsh was its own kind of trouble, what with rumors of spiders and even chaurus living there, but at least it was mostly frozen.

They were lucky, too, as just a short distance from the foot of the hill there was a circular stone pit, clearly an entrance to an ancient Nordic ruin. Hopefully this was that Ustengrav they were looking for.

A small camp sat next to the pit: three figures huddled by the fire, a crude shelter of branches and twigs, probably covering a sleeping area, and a cart. The grass was trampled down in a wide circle, and the area was cleared of rocks and other debris. These people had clearly been here for a while.

"Peace, friends!" Hjalti called walking towards the camp. "Mind if we warm ourselves by your fire?"

"Get lost," a huge Orc, probably a guard or something, growled.

Hjalti tried to reason with him. "No need to be rude, we don't mean to cause trouble."

"That's close enough," another man warned. He was wrapped in a thick cloak, and from his accent Lydia assumed he was a Dunmer.

Hjalti stopped. "Oh, come on, we're just travelers, like you are!" he exclaimed.

Apparently, that was exactly the wrong thing to say, as immediately the cloaked Dunmer threw an Ice Spike at them, which Hjalti batted away like it was nothing.

"Fine, fine, we'll do it the hard way," he grumbled, readying his axe.

The Orc picked up a warhammer from the ground next to him, and he and Hjalti stared at each other for a moment before starting to move in circles, both looking for a good moment to attack.

A fireball nearly caught Lydia, but she managed to raise her shield in time to block it. The Dunmer mage dropped his heavy cloak and seemed very determined to set her on fire. Lydia rushed at him, holding the shield in front of her. When more fireballs hit, Lydia was very glad that she'd had her shield treated against fire. But more fireballs also meant that she was on the defensive. The mage clearly knew how to keep his opponent too busy to try to strike him.

"Lydia!" Hjalti cried from behind her, and she turned just in time to block a hit from the third "camper".

She saw another fireball leaving the mage's hand from the corner of her eye, and in a flash of inspiration, she ducked low, almost falling to all fours. A wave of heat washed over her as the fireball nearly grazed her back, and then the pained cry of her other attacker proved her decision was right.

Quickly, she rolled towards the mage, and managed to land a hit on his leg before he readied another spell. The mer cried out, losing concentration, and then she was on her feet again, and drove her sword through his stomach.

Behind her the Orc roared in pain, and she turned to find that Hjalti had pushed him onto the campfire. Before she could act, her Thane's axe landed on his neck.

The third man, the one that got a face-full of fire, was dead too.

After they dragged the corpses away from the campfire and made sure the blood trail was dug up, covered, or smoked over, Hjalti plopped down next to the fire. Lydia settled more carefully next to him.

"Do you think this is Ustengrav?" she asked.

"Might be, might be not," her Thane shrugged. "The location fits. But these guys weren't here for the view. There will be more inside. I say we go in, check things out, see how far we can get."

Lydia grabbed a piece of bread from one of the plates that had managed to not be overturned in the fight. It wasn't quite fresh, but not stale either. Hjalti helped himself to some of the meat the "campers" had cooked. The meal was light enough, so they decided not to wait, and went down the stairs to the entrance of the ruin.

There were sacks and barrels of supplies piled under the stairs, splattered with dried blood. Its source, a dead Nord in mismatched armor, was lying near, almost blocking the way. Without pause, Hjalti kicked the corpse aside and opened the door.

Another dead Nord was just inside, obviously having succumbed to his wounds as he was trying to crawl out of this place. A long set of stairs led down, and voices were heard from below, though Lydia couldn't make out the words. Weapons at the ready, she and Hjalti headed in.

The stairs led them to the grand chamber where two people, mages from the sounds of it, were arguing about "thralls being slower than Argonians in a blizzard". Hjalti held up a hand, and they stopped behind a large pillar, waiting. The other two continued to argue, oblivious to their presence. Then the sounds of fighting erupted from somewhere deeper in the ruins, and the mages rushed to investigate. Hjalti and Lydia followed.

More stairs and several corridors later they reached a smaller chamber, where a group of mages were fighting draugr. Lydia counted at least seven undead at a quick glance. Most of the mages were dead by the time Hjalti and Lydia reached the place, and the draugr made quick work of the rest.

"Now it's getting fun," Hjalti grinned, taking a stance with his axe.

Lydia readied her sword and shield, but Hjalti was blocking the entrance to the chamber.

"YOL... TOR SHUL!"

The fire caught most of the draugr, but that didn't stop their advance. Three more undead came out of the corridor on the other side of the room.

"Try to behead them!" Hjalti shouted, before rushing forward.

His battleaxe wasn't good for blocking, but he seemed to not need to. In fact, with how three draugr were put back to eternal rest in seconds, Lydia doubted he really needed her help. Still, she attacked the draugr closest to her, and managed to defeat it with relative ease. The second one turned out to be stronger, so her shield saw more use before this draugr was dead again.

The remaining draugr surrounded Hjalti, but he didn't look concerned about it. Somehow, he just _wasn't there_ when their swords swung. Lydia waited until three of the undead were with their backs to her and blocking the view for the rest, and then joined the fight. Maybe she wasn't as good as her Thane at this, but her strikes landed, distracting the draugr and giving Hjalti the opening to behead them. Soon, the fight was over.

While Lydia was catching her breath, Hjalti knelt to examine the draugr weapons. Some of them were in surprisingly good condition. Those, he gathered, but instead of bundling them to his pack, Hjalti put them all on one of the benches lining the walls.

"Later," he kind of explained at Lydia's raised brow. She bit her tongue and didn't comment on how surprisingly reasonable the action was.

The next few corridors were empty. Apparently, the warlocks had drawn all of the draugr to the fight that ended them. Or, at least, most of the draugr. Two were still patrolling a high-ceilinged hall with two bridges connecting the balconies of the upper level. As she dispatched one of the undead, Lydia had a distinct impression that her Thane was holding back and _let_ her join the fight.

The shelves and tables on the upper level held some useful things, like healing potions and scrolls. Maybe the mages had managed to get here without alerting the draugr, or someone else did. The potions seemed fresh. Hjalti pocketed all but two of the scrolls. The ones he left turned out to be Turn Undead when Lydia examined them, so she almost wasn't surprised. She, too, didn't see the point of scaring the enemies away only to fight them again later.

The door at the end of the second bridge opened onto another set of stairs leading down.

After another, thankfully shorter, maze of corridors and chambers, they stepped out onto a ledge overlooking what could only be a natural cavern. Lydia doubted even Atmorani of old could dig out a room this big. Parts of the ceiling had either collapsed or been removed to let the light in, and Lydia wondered where those holes in the ground were. She was completely disoriented by all the turns of the hallways.

Not much light was getting in, though, so it was probably close to sunset.

Far below them Lydia could hear running water, and barely see the outline of some half-circular structure. Most of the cavern seemed to have been left untouched, although the bridges connecting its sides didn't look completely natural.

The ledge wasn't going down, but instead led them to the side into another corridor. And barely a dozen paces in, they nearly stumbled upon two draugr corpses.

Instantly, both Hjalti and Lydia were on high alert.

"It's not the work of those mages," her Thane commented quietly on what Lydia had already noticed. Both draugr were beheaded. Someone else had been here, and not too long ago. Draugr had a nasty habit of rising again, even after their heads had been cut off. Some ancient magic kept repairing them.

They walked slower from there, stopping often to listen to any suspicious sounds in the rooms ahead, but the ruin was eerily still. Their cautiousness paid off when they didn't step onto the strange-looking part of the floor, the plate with several holes arranged in a cross pattern. When Hjalti pushed at it with his axe, gouts of flame erupted from those holes.

"Would have been a nasty burn to suffer," Lydia chuckled after her heart stopped racing.

"Would have been," Hjalti agreed with a smile. He, too, seemed to have remembered their encounter with the Flame Atronach. Lydia almost couldn't believe it was just a few days ago. "Clever, though," Hjalti continued, gesturing to where the trap was located. "Anyone less careful would have stepped on it, with how dark it is here."

"Draugr are not known for being careful," Lydia noted.

The cavern, when they finally got down into it, turned out to be home to a small army of reanimated skeletons. That was both better and worse than more draugr. The magic keeping their bones together wasn't strong enough to withstand a good swing of an axe or a hard bash with a shield, but the skeletons were much quicker than draugr. They dodged better.

By the time they were sure they had killed all of the skeletons, there was no light at all coming from the holes in the ceiling, so Lydia had to put her shield away and light a torch. While she was looking around trying to gauge how far the light from it spread, Hjalti wandered in the direction of the half-circular wall.

"Huh. Do you see the glow, too?" he asked suddenly.

"The glow?" Lydia didn't see any glow anywhere.

"There, on the wall." As if entranced, her Thane walked closer to the wall. Lydia could now see there was an inscription of some kind, but while she was somehow sure those were words, she couldn't read them. She had never seen anything like it before.

"Ah, so that's a famous Word Wall," Hjalti said after a minute of staring at the thing.

"A Word Wall?" Lydia wondered.

"An ancient tombstone," Hjalti explained. "The inscription on it is in Dovahzul, the dragons' language, and it's said that a Dragonborn can learn Rotmulaag, Words of Power, from them. Hence a _Word_ Wall."

"So did you learn one?"

"Yes. Feim, 'fade'. Though might be a while before I can actually use it. Doesn't... feel right, yet."

Lydia wondered for a moment what that meant. She had been there when her Thane announced to the Jarl that he was Dragonborn, but she had never before thought about it.

"I think we've killed all the undead in this place." Hjalti's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Should be safe to rest for a while."

"We can't really keep going in this darkness," Lydia agreed, turning back to the practical.

Whether they had destroyed all the undead in this part of the ruin or not, it would have been foolish and dangerous to just lie down and fall asleep. Even reckless as he was, Thane Hjalti must have realized that. Lydia offered to take the first watch, but he just shook his head and told her to settle down and sleep. Her thin bedroll laid out on the stone floor next to the Word Wall was nowhere near comfortable, but as she lay down Lydia realized just how exhausted she was.

She hadn't felt as rested as she had hoped to when Hjalti woke her, but she rose to take watch all the same. Before long, though, she found how hard it was to stay awake. The ruin was quiet, save for the noise of the waterfall and the babbling of the stream. No footsteps, no clinking of bones that could indicate more undead. If not for the rock ceiling above, this place could be mistaken for a forest. More than once Lydia caught herself almost nodding off, her eyelids drooping and her mind wandering. Suddenly, having almost never drawn the night shift didn't seem like a blessing she thought it was. Although, a patrolling guard didn't have to stay in one place, so maybe that wouldn't have prepared her for this.

Eventually, light started seeping in through the holes in the ceiling, and she woke her Thane so they could continue. They had explored most of the cavern the previous day, and it didn't look like there was any way out on its lower level. It took some time to find a way to the bridges connecting the walls, but one of those did lead them to the man-made structure. The floor and walls of the large alcove the bridge ended in were clearly artificial, and the narrow corridor leading further into the ruin was blocked by a portcullis. Three stones carved with runes were placed a short distance away from it, and when Lydia walked close to one of them, it lit up red. The portcullis rose with a screech, revealing another one barely a pace behind it, and then dropped back down after a few seconds.

"Ah, puzzles, the loveliest part of all Nordic ruins," Hjalti huffed.

"That would be dart-traps," Lydia countered.

After a bit more pacing around, they figured out that each runed stone raised one of the three portcullises blocking their way, so Lydia walked between the stones while Hjalti passed through the opening as each gate was raised. As they suspected, there was a pull-chain on the other end that raised all three gates, so Lydia joined her Thane with no problem. She wondered how a person was supposed to deal with this puzzle if they were alone. She certainly would have been unable to clear the last portcullis before it dropped back, even running as fast as she could.

"There is a Shout that allows one to move fast," Hjalti said, as if he had heard her thoughts. "Or maybe one could use that word from the Wall below, _Fade_."

"If they could learn it."

A short set of stairs opened into another chamber that looked half-collapsed. Two huge spiders charged at them from the other side, but were burnt by the flame-trap before they could reach Hjalti and Lydia. Yet, when they took a closer look at what saved them trouble, Lydia nearly groaned aloud. It wasn't just _a_ flame-trap. The whole floor for as far as they could see was covered in those things, save the narrow space they were standing on.

Thankfully, after Hjalti poked half the plates in the first row with his axe, it turned out that one plate wasn't functioning. Or maybe it was made to look like a trap-plate just for show. The plate after that was also safe, and so was the one in the third row, but the fourth spat out flames when Hjalti put his axe to it. The one on their left didn't, though, so they continued in this way, checking each plate and waiting for the flames to stop if they triggered the wrong one.

There was another short corridor on the far side of the chamber, leading to the massive gate with a pull-chain next to it that opened the way into a much bigger room. The floor was submerged in water, leaving only a narrow bridge to the other side, where what could only be a sarcophagus stood. As they stepped onto the bridge, the whole place trembled, and four statues rose from the water, two on each side.

"Guess we're lucky this place was flooded," Hjalti noted, gesturing to the mouths of the statues. "They are supposed to spit fire," he explained at Lydia's questioning look. She didn't see anything unusual there, but her Thane had apparently had more experience with old ruins than she did, so she thanked the gods that they didn't have to deal with that.

The sarcophagus turned out to be an elaborate piece of stonework, covered in runes and some strange symbols that Lydia had never seen before. The lid was decorated with a stone hand that was shaped as if it was supposed to be holding something round. That something, though, was missing. Instead, woven between the fingers was a piece of paper.

"'Dragonborn, I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you. A friend.'" Hjalti read the note aloud. Lydia frowned.

"This doesn't make sense," she said. "The Sleeping Giant doesn't have an attic. And if it's so urgent, why not send a courier?"

Hjalti's eyes narrowed as he re-read the note.

"Does make sense for someone who's been living in paranoia for over two decades," he sighed finally.

Lydia looked around, not even sure what she was looking for. There didn't seem to be any other exit from this room, unless the alcove behind the sarcophagus held some hidden door. The walls looked like they used to have some carvings on them, but those were half-erased by time and dump air, making it impossible to figure out what they portrayed. If this was that "hall of stories" Hjalti wanted to see, it was completely useless to them.

"Looks like we won't get any answers here," she remarked. "Maybe we should go to Riverwood and see what this 'friend' knows."

"Maybe," Hjalti agreed after his own look around the chamber apparently hadn't given him any revelations.

The tomb chamber did actually have another exit, but the passage the door led to had collapsed, making it useless, so they had to retrace their steps through the ruin. Hjalti collected the trophies he had left behind earlier and took time to dig through the supplies the warlocks and bandits accumulated in the first grand chamber. Even though Lydia didn't like it, she had to admit that they really had no other way to make money. At least Hjalti left the grave goods alone. Lydia was pretty sure most other adventurers wouldn't have.

It was hard to tell the time when they left Ustengrav, as the sky was completely covered in clouds. With how dark they looked, it was likely to snow sometime soon, so the obvious decision was to head to Morthal, as it was probably the closest place with an inn.

Although, that was easier said than done. Even with the ground half-frozen in the bog, there were still pools of water with too-thin ice over them, so finding the safe path took time and effort. Good thing that Lydia had insisted they both get walking sticks. Without those, traveling here would have been far more unpleasant.

Morthal was about as impressive as Lydia expected, meaning "not at all," but after several hours in the marsh that was the last of their concerns. The town had an inn where they were most welcome, and that was enough.


	8. Housecarl: Roadside Adventures

The next morning started with a brawl.

They had arrived late the previous night, so the Orc that called himself the local bard had already been asleep. Barely two minutes of his performance in the morning, though, and Hjalti rose from the table, abandoning his breakfast. Lydia hadn't heard what had been said, but then the fists were flying and the two were circling each other, snarling and throwing punches.

The innkeeper shrugged when Lydia looked at her, and then left the inn. She returned shortly with another woman, a fair-haired Nord in a plain dress and an apron, but none of them made a move towards the fighters. A few minutes later, when the Orc grumbled his surrender through the clearly broken jaw, and Hjalti returned to their table, the Nord woman gave the "bard" some potion, but she didn't stay to help him drink it. Apparently, the Orc's performances were not held in high esteem here.

The innkeeper only confirmed that when she refused to take money for their breakfast.

"On the house," she said with a smile. "For getting Lurbuk to shut up. I am of half a mind to ask Falion to cast Silence on him so he'll stop scaring everyone away. Too bad Lami can't make a potion for that."

The Redguard woman was clearly bored, so Lydia chatted with her a bit, while Hjalti went to look around the town. Not that there was much to look at. From what she had seen when they arrived, even in the dark, the town was barely big enough for the name.

True to her prediction, Hjalti returned less than an hour later, having found absolutely nothing useful. By that time Lydia had learned all the latest gossip, mostly centered around some woman named Alva, who had started to spend a lot of time in the marsh lately. Assuring the innkeeper that they would be most careful, Lydia went to get her things.

With no hope to sell their trophies, since the place didn't even have a blacksmith, they headed to Solitude. A well-traveled Imperial road went past Morthal, connecting the Pale and Haafingar, so Lydia expected it to be a fairly easy day of walking.

Her hopes were dashed a few hours later. Just as they were nearing Fort Snowhawk, three Ice Spikes landed several paces ahead of them. Like a warning. Or a missed shot. Turning to the fort's gate, Lydia saw several skeletons running at them, and two figures in dark robes on the wall above the gate. It looked like the mages were preparing more spells, so Lydia rushed for the cover of the fort's walls. There she at least didn't have to worry about having an Ice Spike dropped right onto her head. The machicolations1 had all crumbled from so long without proper maintenance.

"FUS... RO DAH!" Hjalti's Shout pushed skeletons into the walls of the fort. None of them survived the impact.

"Rude," Hjalti commented, as he joined Lydia under the wall. Several more Ice Spikes marked his path, but, luckily, it seemed nobody had taught these mages how to shoot at a fast-moving target.

"What do you say, should we show those guys why it's wrong to shoot ice at travelers?" Hjalti whispered with a grin. He already had his axe ready.

"You lead, I'll follow." Lydia grinned back, readying her sword and shield. She might have been a guard and taught to avoid fighting for the last ten years, but she was also a Nord. She didn't like avoiding a fight.

As soon as they exited the poor excuse for a gatehouse, more skeletons assaulted them from both sides. With a very predictable outcome.

"Right or left?" Hjalti asked when the bones of their attackers were scattered on the ground.

"Right." Lydia nodded to where the two mages had just emerged from the archway leading into another bailey.

There was little room between the outer walls and the keep. In its better days, with walls manned and maintained properly, this would have been a death-trap. Now, half-crumbled and nearly empty, it wasn't. And the mages clearly didn't know how to use the place to their advantage.

While more skeletons and mages appeared, drawn by the sounds of fighting, she ran up the stairs onto the rampart and crouched behind the parapet. Sheathing her sword, she dropped the shield and drew her bow. Hjalti grinned at her and nodded.

It was almost easy after that. Hjalti kept whirling around, dodging the blows from the skeletons and the ice spells from the mages, keeping their attention on him, while Lydia shot the latter. Then another Shout, and a few swings of an axe, dealt with the undead that hadn't crumbled to the ground when the mages that were controlling them died.

There didn't seem to be any more attackers, but Hjalti and Lydia still went through all the baileys circling the keep. All that time Hjalti kept grumbling about the flaws of the fort, until, apparently, he couldn't bear it any longer.

"Whoever built this fort was either an idiot or a traitor!" he exclaimed when they returned to the main gate.

Lydia shrugged. "Places like this stood abandoned for generations. Skyrim's jarls haven't fought each other for a long time."

"Not an excuse!" Hjalti continued to fume. "This is like... a formal invitation! 'Please, come and conquer!'"

"Tell that to the jarls. Nobody had the resources or manpower, even before Ulfric made sure people had other concerns. And at least when these guys," Lydia nodded to the fallen necromancers, "happen, they are easy to clear out."

"If this place had been built and maintained properly, these guys _wouldn't_ have happened!"

"Well, it hadn't been," Lydia huffed. "Are we going in, or not?"

Her Thane huffed in return, but opened the door to the donjon2.

They were still blinking as their eyes adjusted to the change of light when the sound of breaking ice and a rattle of bones made them turn left. When nothing came out of the archway there, they went to investigate, only to find that some skeletons had managed to trigger a rune trap. The floor was still covered in ice where it went off, the collection of bones leaving little doubt as to what had happened. Further that way, a staircase led to the small landing with two doors: to the donjon's roof, and to the keep's upper walls. Nothing hostile lurked behind either of them, so Hjalti turned around and marched down the stairs. Thankfully, there were no more traps.

What was there, though, was a pair of necromancers and five skeletons, on a fairly well-lit landing at the bottom of the stairs that started to the right of the door. Lydia barely managed to not snort at that. The stairs were shrouded in darkness, and both mages were facing the flaming braziers, unable to see Hjalti's and Lydia's approach. That certainly looked like an "official invitation."

Lydia had just nocked an arrow when Hjalti tapped her shoulder and motioned to the left. She glanced that way, but saw nothing out of ordinary. She shook her head slightly, and Hjalti waved a hand again. Left. Lydia let her gaze glide slowly in that direction, and then she realized. The mage standing slightly to the left had some kind of circlet on his head, gleaming in the firelight. She nodded, drew her bow and loosed the arrow.

It hit the mage with the circlet right in the neck, and he crumpled to the ground, dead. His partner turned to the stairs and launched an Ice Spike, but it flew too high. The skeletons rushed at them in a tight crowd, and Hjalti grinned before using his seemingly favorite Shout. The skeletons and the mage flew into the far wall, and the sword of one of the undead pierced the mage's stomach.

Nothing moved on the landing, but more clanking of bones could be heard from the corridor to the right. Skeletons were banging swords on their shields, too, no doubt the same that they'd done when they were alive.

The corridor was empty when they entered it, with stairs leading down, and then up again. Puddles had formed in the lowest part, and the walls and ceiling were covered in moss and mold where water trickled on and off for years. Another corridor crossed the one they were in, but it had caved in on both sides, and the way forward was blocked by a wooden grate at the top of the stairs.

Lydia could see more skeletons shuffling behind the grate, trying to find a way to get to the intruders. It seemed like a dead-end, and Lydia was already preparing to go back, but then the grate lifted. Somebody opened the way from the other side, and the skeletons rushed in, only to be shattered by the swings of Hjalti's axe. Lydia huffed at the incredible foolishness of whoever did that. And they used to call magic _Clever_ Craft!

The two mages in the room clearly hadn't expected their minions to be dealt with so swiftly. With shrieks of terror, they ran deeper into the fort, Hjalti and Lydia on their heels. Mostly Hjalti, though. Apparently, his frustration with the fort design translated really well into the fight. When they had reached a circular chamber with a bone-covered altar in the center and another mage wearing a circlet and far more decorated robes than she had seen so far, Lydia almost didn't need to participate. She dodged a few Ice Spikes, shouted a few taunts, but the three necromancers all fell to the bladed whirlwind that Hjalti had become. Lydia was impressed.

She was a bit less impressed when Hjalti gleefully grabbed all things of value in the room, rifling through the shelves, chests, and pockets of the dead mages. Still, she told herself, this wasn't desecrating a Nordic crypt. The mages had attacked first, so she and Hjalti had the rights to the trophies. And at least, he didn't grab cheap-looking or unwieldy stuff. She had heard tales in the tavern, about how some adventurers could be. Compared to those, Hjalti's looting was completely practical and reasonable.

The only other building in the fort, the prison, was empty. There were no mages, no skeletons, and no prisoners in its hall and cells, so when Hjalti finished looting the mages' bodies left outside, they went to continue on their way to Solitude. But of course, this was the day when the gods decided to remind Lydia how foolish it was to make plans and hope for the best.

They'd been back on the road for maybe ten minutes when a thunderous roar sounded from above. Hjalti cursed, dropping his pack and looking around. Apparently, the surrounding area didn't meet his approval as a battlefield.

"Underhanded puffed-up lizard!" he muttered, drawing his axe, eyes still on the sky.

Oddly, his expression reminded Lydia of her fellow guards when they got a shift of patrolling the market square: resigned to dealing with things nobody wanted to deal with. She shook her head to dispel the memory, and grabbed Hjalti's pack. Stashing both their packs and her shield under the nearby bush, she readied her bow and strapped the quiver onto her back, before joining her Thane on the road again.

With a quick glance at her, Hjalti Shouted. "MID... VUR SHAAN!"

There was no visible effect, not like the blue-tinged ripple of air, frost, or fire of his other Shouts, but when Lydia lifted her bow, it felt... different.

"Aim for the wings," Hjalti instructed when the giant creature started to descend lazily towards them. "If it hovers facing you, get out of the way."

"Noted."

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Hjalti hefted the axe a bit higher. He, too, was following the dragon's descent with his eyes. Lydia nocked an arrow and got ready to draw, letting her mind drift over all the details. The wind, the distance, how the thing was moving. She saw her opening, drew and loosed the arrow. And stared.

"What..?" She started, not even sure what she was asking. What happened? What had Hjalti done? Was that even him? How in Oblivion had her bow become two times lighter in the draw than it was half an hour ago?

Before she could get any answers, the dragon was upon them, and Hjalti rushed away, shouting what sounded like insults at it. The words, though, were not anything she had ever heard.

With some effort, Lydia made herself focus, pushing the questions out of her mind. Hjalti was distracting the dragon. Her job was to shoot it, so she did. Somehow, while the bow _felt_ lighter in the draw, it clearly hadn’t changed, the arrows still flew the same way. Her aim was true, and the arrows landed, though she didn't see them having much effect. Even if the dragon's wing soon resembled a pin-cushion, the monster was still hovering in the air, spitting fire, which Hjalti kept dodging somehow.

Just as she thought that she should have taken her spare quiver, too, the dragon made a move to turn, straightening the wounded wing, and fell down to the ground. Lydia couldn't hold a victorious cry seeing the beast blinking, like it didn't expect its wing to act up. Hjalti didn't waste time, jumping onto the creature's shoulder, and then to its back, striking with his axe seemingly at random.

The dragon turned its head, trying to reach for the annoying mortal, and Lydia shot, aiming for its open mouth. She missed, but it was a lucky miss, as the arrow pierced the dragon's eye. The beast roared in pain, Hjalti's axe now landing strike after strike onto its neck, right behind the thick skull. With another roar, the beast finally collapsed.

For a few heartbeats Lydia stood there, unsure of what to do. Was the beast dead? Should she go check? Did her Thane need help? Should..? And then her racing thoughts staggered to a halt when the dragon's body seemed to light up from within. The guards that had been at the western watchtower told and retold the story for days after the event, but seeing it with her own eyes....

Mesmerized, Lydia walked closer. She could see some scales falling off, but mostly it just looked like fire consuming the piece of paper, leaving only light. It gathered, intensifying, for a few seconds, and then it all... rushed into Hjalti, who fell to his knees with a cry.

That, the guards didn't tell about. Lydia hurried to his side, pulling a potion from her belt pouch.

"My Thane? Hjalti?" she called, kneeling beside him, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"Underhanded... puffed-up... lizard..." he muttered through gritted teeth. His hands gripped the shaft of the axe so tight she could hear it creaking.

"Are you hurt? Do you need a potion?" Lydia tried again, and this time the words reached him.

He looked up at her for several long seconds, before gritting out, "Not... hurt...."

Lydia's eyes narrowed. He was clearly in pain. Breathing in ragged irregular gasps. She hadn't seen it herself before, but her adoptive father told her of such things. Backlash of battle-fury. Though she couldn't see why it would happen now, except maybe that light, the dragon's soul, had something to do with it.

Before she could do any of the things her father had taught her, Hjalti managed to take a deep breath, exhaled long and slow, and after he blinked a few times, there was no trace of pain in his gaze. Lydia moved to help him get up, but he just shook his head, rising almost gracefully, considering the armor. She went to get their packs, and when she picked them up and turned back, she nearly laughed. Whatever had happened mere minutes earlier, it hadn't rid her Thane of trophy-lust, as he was using his axe to break the dragon's skeleton into separate bones, some of which he then put into a pile to the side.

It took some creative thinking to arrange the bones and scales in and on their packs so they were easier to carry (gods, those things were heavy!), but they managed. Hjalti then told her about a smith in Solitude that had wanted to figure out the way to make armor like ancient Nords had, and had promised to buy all the bones and scales for a good price. That certainly explained the selection of bones Hjalti had picked; Lydia could imagine how those could be arranged to make parts of the armor.

"You should probably explain what happened back there. So that I know what to do next time." Now that they were back on the road, she decided to finally address at least one of the questions she'd gotten today.

Hjalti just shrugged. "Not sure what you can do. Absorbing the dragon's soul is painful. Until I can... 'lock' all its knowledge and feelings inside, it's... an unpleasant experience." Judging by his grimace, "unpleasant" was the understatement of an era.

"So it wasn't the backlash of battle-fury?" Lydia asked. Just to make sure.

Despite his earlier misery, Hjalti laughed.

"Last time I _heard_ about the battle-fury was when my father explained how it was the least useful ability to have for a Guild-trained fighter," he said eventually. "I never even tried after that. Father gave some... colorful examples."

"Like what?"

"Well, backlash, among other things," Hjalti shrugged again. "How berserks died when the fight was over because they couldn't snap out of it, or how they turned on their allies. I was nine then, he knew how to impress me."

"Nine?" she couldn't hide her surprise. "Guild-trained fighter? Even Companions don't accept people younger than sixteen!"

"Nor does the Fighters' Guild. Father trained me himself, until I was of an 'acceptable age.'"

"So that's how you've learned to fight like that? Your father and the Fighters' Guild?"

"Yeah. And what remained from the teachings of sword masters from the Second Era."

"You fight with a two-handed axe," Lydia pointed out.

"Those techniques are not limited to swords, despite the name."

For a short while they walked in silence, before Lydia decided to ask again, "Is there really nothing I can do, about the dragon's soul?"

"No," Hjalti sighed. "Just wait."

They only made it to Dragon Bridge before sunset, so it was the Four Shields Tavern that housed them that night. Lydia couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. She had been looking forward to the famous baths in Solitude's best inn, the Winking Skeever _._ Sure, all other inns they had stayed in provided some water to clean up, but none of them had more than a simple tub in their basements. Solitude's inn boasted a whole pool that was always kept warm somehow. That must have cost a good coin, Lydia thought a bit ruefully, but then, Hjalti didn't seem to be stingy. Maybe she could convince him that was money well-spent.

As she cleaned up and got ready for bed, Lydia kept thinking about the events of the day. How natural it felt to fight by Hjalti's side. How _good_ he was at that. And of course, fighting the dragon was at the forefront of her mind. She made a mental note to get more arrows in Solitude. She was down to her spare quiver, and she wasn't sure that would be enough to take down another dragon. Hopefully, they wouldn't meet one before getting to the capital.

_The dragon circled again, and Lydia waited, an arrow on the bowstring. A man in ornate armor was brandishing a battleaxe and shouting insults at the dragon, drawing its attention away from her. There was nowhere to hide on the plains around Whiterun, no good place where she could be protected and still shoot at the beast._

_"Hey you, puffed-up lizard!" the man shouted. "Here I am! Come and get me!"_

_The dragon rumbled something that felt distinctly like laughing, and then spat more fire at the man. Lydia took her chance to shoot at its wing while it was hovering, trying not to think what that fire could do to a person._

_She kept shooting, but then the dragon was on the ground, and she didn't remember when it had landed. It was turning to her, and she ran, trying to dodge the inevitable firestorm it was certainly preparing to breath at her._

_But the fire never came. The dragon's roar was not of fire, but of pain. Lydia turned, to see her partner slashing at the dragon's snout, blood splattering everywhere._

_Breathing hard, Lydia drew her bow again, and let loose the arrow. She didn't see where it landed, and didn't really care, as long as it distracted the dragon from the man with the axe. As long as she could do_ something.

_Finally, with another anguished roar, the great beast collapsed, dead. Lydia came closer, watching it ignite from within, mesmerized with a huge body burning into ash, leaving a bare skeleton. Watching the streams of light coalescing around the body of the man that killed the beast. Watching..._

_The man turned to her, and with a start she realized it wasn't her Thane._

Lydia woke up with a gasp, jerking upright on the bed. No light was seen from the slits in the shutters, and the fire in the main room of the inn was burning low. She was in Dragon Bridge's inn, the Four Shields Tavern. The day before she'd helped Hjalti clear out a fort of necromancers, and then they had killed a dragon. That part of the dream, at least, was explainable.

But why had she dreamed of Vilkas as the Dragonborn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] an opening in the floor between the supporting corbels of a battlement through which missiles, molten lead, etc., might be cast upon an enemy beneath. It allows shooting straight down to the base of the wall without needing to lean over the parapet and be exposed to enemy's fire. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-VEgf57Ie8
> 
> [2] The highest tower of the castle.


	9. Housecarl: Coincidences

The dream had affected Lydia more than she would have liked. The whole morning, while getting dressed, eating breakfast, and then on the road, she couldn't stop thinking about what her mind had conjured while she slept. It had taken Hjalti teasing her about "roaming the roads of Skyrim with one's head in the clouds" for her to somewhat snap out of it.

"Goes both ways, you know," he added when she tried to brush it off as nothing. "That thing about talking and listening."

"You remember the man that called after me when we were leaving Whiterun?" Lydia asked then, still not sure how to tell about her dream.

"Big Nord in bigger armor?"

She nodded with a small smile. That was certainly an accurate description.

"Yes, him. I... We used to be close. When I was younger. He's a Companion, and back then, I wanted to be one, too. But when I went to try, he convinced the Circle that I wasn't fit for them. I told him to get lost after that. We hadn't spoken for ten years, until that morning at the gates."

"Well, he certainly was wrong. And since when do the Companions have more requirements than bravery and honor?"

"He tried to explain it, even. Said he didn't want to see me in danger."

"Is he even a Nord? And had he met you?" Hjalti huffed. Lydia laughed, though it felt a bit awkward to her ears, and she was almost sure she was blushing now. She wasn't fishing for compliments, really, she _wasn't_ , but hearing her Thane say that still made her feel a bit better.

"I dreamed of him last night." She finally explained what had been keeping her so distracted. "There was a dragon, like yesterday, but instead of you, he was there. And now I can't stop thinking about it. Does it mean something? Or was that just gods playing tricks on me?"

"Don't think they would care for such tricks." Hjalti shrugged, looking at the sky. "Seems like they've got better things to do."

Something in his voice made Lydia think this wasn't a topic he would talk about, so she didn't press. At least her dream wasn't as much of a distraction after that.

Solitude was... more than Lydia had ever expected to see. She had always thought Whiterun was big, but the capital was even bigger. The whole street, and a rather long one, running from the gates to the market square, was allotted to the various shops, and the market itself was at least two times bigger than in Whiterun.

They stopped briefly at the Winking Skeever to secure the rooms for the night and grab a quick meal, and then went straight to the blacksmith Hjalti had told her about. The man was indeed quite happy to take all the dragon's bones and scales off their hands, as well as a few of the draugr's swords. The fletcher next door provided Lydia with arrows, too, so now she didn't have to worry about encountering another dragon. Well, didn't have to worry about running out of arrows, that is. Which reminded her....

"We should train," she told Hjalti when they left the fletcher's shop.

"In what way?"

"You did something when we fought that dragon," she explained. "My bow felt two times lighter in the draw than it normally is. It worked to our advantage, but I'm not used to that. That's not a good idea to go into a battle with a weapon one's not used to."

"Alright," Hjalti nodded after some deliberation. "Not in the city, though. Guards get nervous," he added with a smirk, and Lydia laughed. She had been a guard not too long ago: she understood.

"Fair enough," she agreed. "We'll have time for that on the road."

They walked along the Merchant's Lane after that, entering some of the shops, though Lydia couldn't figure out how Hjalti chose them. She would have passed by quite a few of them without a second glance. Her Thane had clearly been here before.

They sold the rest of their trophies — well, Hjalti did, haggling like crazy again. The merchants recognized him, and most of them looked almost like they anticipated the fierce haggling as soon as they saw who had set foot in their shop. Lydia was starting to think that he just liked the process. Surely it didn't matter much if the ring cost three hundred or three hundred and two septims. That alone was more money than Lydia was used to having, and that was just one ring out of all the stuff Hjalti got from Ustengrav and Fort Snowhawk. Though that turned out to be the most expensive one, since it had a strong enchantment. Even the circlets that the two mages in the fort had been wearing turned out to cost less than that, as the enchantments on them weren't very good.

The stables were their next destination, but that was where their luck abandoned them. The only horse that was for sale clearly wasn't meant for carrying a person in armor. They could probably use a pack horse, but it didn't seem like this one would be able to keep up with actual riding horses, so they left empty-handed.

It was still too early for dinner when they returned to the inn. By that time, though, Lydia's curiosity was waging an all-out war with her sense of duty. As a housecarl, she was supposed to stay by Hjalti's side, but she also wanted to see the city. And either Hjalti was more observant than she gave him credit for, or her expression was less neutral than she thought, because just before the inn's door her Thane stopped.

"Here," he said, handing her a coin-purse. "Not sure how much I'm supposed to be paying you, but this should be enough to play tourist in Solitude."

"I.... " Lydia took the purse, not sure what to say.

"Oh, for the love of...! Go walk the streets, buy some trinkets, whatever! I'll be fine by myself for a few hours. Just try to not get lost." With that he disappeared into the inn, leaving Lydia alone in the street.

A voice from nearby shook her out of her stupor. "That looks like a heavy purse," a one-eyed man dressed in ragged clothes commented. "Spare a coin or two for a veteran?"

"A veteran?" Lydia asked, turning to him. Many layers of dirty and threadbare clothes that he was wrapped in didn't let her judge his physique, but his posture was indeed closer to what she had seen in the barracks than in the streets.

"What, you see a man fallen on hard times, and you think he's been like that forever?" the beggar retorted defensively. "I fought in the Great War. Lost an eye on the field at Anvil. And they left me! Just like that, left me for dead!"

"Sorry about that." Lydia opened the purse, quickly grabbed a few coins without looking, and nearly thrust them into the beggar's hand. "Here, get yourself something warm."

Judging by his widened eyes, she must have given this beggar more than he expected. Not wishing to hear his thanks or his stories, Lydia stashed the purse into her pack and hurried down the street, her thoughts in turmoil. Her adoptive father could have ended up like that, if Jarl Balgruuf hadn't taken him in. Or maybe not. His nearly non-functioning arm hadn't stopped him from becoming the captain of the Whiterun guard, after all.

Of course, starting out like that, Lydia did get lost. She would have probably wandered the streets until nightfall, had one of the guards not noticed how confused she looked. The man helpfully explained to her how to get back to the inn from where she had found herself, and Lydia managed to get back by following his directions.

Hjalti was sitting in the corner of the inn's main room when she returned, a bottle of mead on the table next to him.

"Nice walk?" he asked when Lydia joined him.

"Interesting, definitely," she replied. Before she had time to tell him about getting lost, though, she noticed an Altmer heading their way.

"Hjalti, was it?" the elf asked, stopping near their table.

"That's me," her Thane nodded. "Have we met?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. At the outpost claimed by bandits between Dragon's Bridge and Rorikstead. Two months or so ago."

Hjalti tilted his head to the side, looking the elf over, and Lydia’s gaze was drawn to him too. His long hair, the same golden color as his skin, was pulled into a high ponytail, and instead of the armor with eagle motifs the High Elves seemed to be so fond of, he had a slightly worn brown gambeson, leather greaves and bracers. She glanced at the cloak racks in the corners, but couldn't discern which one belonged to the elf. None looked as fancy as she would have expected.

"Lorcalin?" Hjalti asked then, apparently having recognized the elf.

"My Thane, do you know him?" Lydia turned back to them.

"Thane?" the elf raised his eyebrows in question. "I thought I knew all the Thanes of Solitude."

"There are other Holds in Skyrim that one can become Thane of," Lydia spoke harshly.

"Calm down, Lydia, I do know him. So, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I need a bodyguard on my journey to the Rift. You've mentioned you were somewhat of a sell-sword...."

Before Lydia could interject that her Thane wasn't a sell-sword, Hjalti nodded. "I have a thing to do in Riverwood, so if you don't mind waiting a day in Whiterun, we can accompany you. Five hundred now, five hundred upon arrival."

"That's twice the price others ask for," the elf noted with a raised brow.

"And you're getting twice the manpower. Lydia is coming with us."

The elf turned to her, and Lydia met his gaze. After a few moments, he sighed. "Alright. Will you be ready tomorrow at dawn?"

Lydia shrugged. They'd bought enough supplies to last until Whiterun, and they could get more there.

"We'll meet you at the gates," Hjalti agreed.

The elf took a coin-purse out of his belt pouch and headed for the door after leaving it on their table. Lydia noticed that the cloak he'd picked up was just as unassuming as the rest of his attire.

Hjalti's quiet whistle made her turn back to him. Or, rather, the coin-purse that Hjalti had opened and was looking into. At her questioning look he handed it to her, and Lydia had to hold her own whistle of surprise. By the weight of it, there were maybe fifty coins there, but the few at the top were not gold. They were quicksilver coins, each worth fifty septims. Lydia had never thought she would see more than one of them. The only reason she even knew what those were was because sometimes she stood guard at the doors to Dragonsreach treasury.

At least she had had the time to enjoy the baths in the Winking Skeever, Lydia thought the following morning as they were leaving Solitude. One of the maids explained to her that it was an enchantment that kept the water warm, and now Lydia was wondering if Farengar could be convinced to try to make something like this. Probably not, she decided, at least not while there were dragons in the skies of Skyrim. Those seemed to be the only thing the court mage had been able to talk about for the last two months.

The elf did meet them at the gates, and though at first he wanted their journey to be made on foot, on horses at most, Hjalti managed to persuade him to hire the carriage to Whiterun. Lydia suspected that the wet snow and the canvas cover that the driver raised over the back of the carriage made a big impact on the decision.

They didn't train on the first day of the journey due to the weather, but tried it on the second night. The early winter twilight was far from ideal conditions, and Lydia lost quite a few arrows to the dark, but she managed to get used to the change in how her bow felt.

To her surprise, the elf joined them, showing somewhat passable skill in swordsmanship. Though Hjalti, even in heavier armor and with a two-handed axe still beat him four times out of five, and for his only victory even Lorcalin himself admitted that it was pure luck.

"Irileth would probably accept you into Whiterun guard," Lydia commented, half in consolation, half in jest. "Compared to him, few would look good."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever need a new job," the elf nodded with a thin smile, before returning to the camp.

Unfortunately, that was the only training session Lydia got. The next evening they arrived to Whiterun, and Hjalti left for Riverwood even before they reached the stables. Meaning it was Lydia's job to explain to the gate guards that Lorcalin wasn't a Thalmor, or at least wasn't there to arrest anyone. The elf's dismissive "I'm not wearing the uniform," didn't really help that, but eventually she managed to convince them. She really hoped she wouldn't ever have to do the same at the gates of Windhelm. From all the rumors she'd heard, things were far, far worse there.

She tried to draw Lorcalin into a conversation, asking where in the Rift he was heading, explaining her curiosity by the need to buy more supplies, but the elf remained tight-lipped.

"We'll resupply in Riften, if the need arises," he said, his tone and expression making it clear he wasn't going to say anything else, so Lydia gave up on that.

She did buy some more food in the morning, and checked the stables to see if they had horses for sale, but without success again.

Hjalti returned around noon, and he didn't look happy about how his encounter in Riverwood had gone.

"Another detour?" Lorcalin asked, equally unhappy when Hjalti told them he "wanted" to go to Kynesgrove.

"There's a grove dedicated to Kyne there," her Thane shrugged. "I haven't been to any of her places for ages."

"You don't look like one who would worship Kynareth," the elf crossed his arms, his whole posture radiating skepticism.

"And you don't look like one who would have business in the Rift," Hjalti retorted. "Had you told us before that you were in a hurry, I might have put more consideration into your request."

"Fine," Lorcalin huffed after a few moments of glaring. "Just make it quick. I do have business in the Rift, whatever you may think."

They left pretty much right after that, and had managed to make it to Valtheim Towers before it was too dark to keep going. Two guards assigned to watch the road there happily agreed to let them take shelter in the tower in exchange for joining them on watch. Lorcalin, of course, adamantly refused to do so, but Hjalti agreed, and so did Lydia. The guards even let them take the first and last shift, so they could have uninterrupted sleep.

Hjalti had taken the last shift, and he woke them up even before the sun rose. Lorcalin tried to complain, but was silenced by a reminder that "somebody claimed to have business in the Rift and wanted to get there quickly." Lydia wondered what the elf did when he wasn't crossing Skyrim with hired bodyguards. She hadn't known any other Altmer, so she wasn't sure if his attitude came from culture or occupation, but after the mention of "uniform" and with the way he held himself, Lydia was starting to suspect they had been hired by a Thalmor. That didn’t improve her mood. Like many in Skyrim, she had learned to keep her faith quiet, but if Lorcalin really was a Thalmor, she feared "keeping quiet" might not be enough.

Her Thane, it seemed, didn't have any concerns about that, and was completely focused on getting to their destination as quickly as possible. The pace he set was almost as swift as when they had been returning from High Hrothgar, so Lydia was really glad they weren't on a mountain trail this time. Though it didn't make walking much easier, especially when around noon the road turned north, and Hjalti decided that it would be faster to go straight through the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch.

After a couple of hours trudging through the barren landscape they saw the copse of trees that must have been the famous sacred grove. They split up again upon reaching it: Hjalti, true to his word, went to the small clearing that was barely seen behind massive trunks, and Lydia accompanied Lorcalin to the town itself. They had just reached the inn when a huge beast flew overhead, heading east, and a moment later several people came running in the opposite direction, screaming "Dragon!"

Lydia's eyes narrowed. This was too much to be a coincidence.

"Where are you going?!" Lorcalin cried after her when she headed in the direction the dragon had taken, almost making Lydia curse.

"That's a dragon," she explained without stopping. "Thane Hjalti must have heard it. He will be there. And as his housecarl, it's my duty to be by his side. Feel free to stay back."

"Are you insane? That thing will just swallow you whole!" Apparently, the elf decided not to stay back. Lydia didn't reply.

There was a dragon mound on the top of the hill, and by the time they reached it, a skeletal dragon was climbing out. As it emerged from the ground, its flesh grew back, and soon it stood there, alive, as if it hadn't been buried for centuries at all. Another, black and far bigger dragon was hovering over the hill, speaking in its strange language.

And a dozen paces before her stood Hjalti, axe in hand, staring at the hovering beast defiantly. He, too, was talking in the same language, his words making the black beast emit a sound that must have been a laugh. Then it said something sounding like a command to the dragon on the ground, before turning and flying away.

"MID... VUR SHAAN!" Hjalti Shouted, already sprinting to the remaining dragon.

Lydia hurried to get her bow ready and started shooting, aiming for the beast's wings. To her surprise, Lorcalin hadn't stayed back at all, and was shooting lightning at the dragon. She had half-expected the elf to run when he saw the beasts. Lydia also noticed that she wasn't the only archer on this battlefield: someone else was shooting at the dragon's other wing.

Under their combined assault, the dragon hadn't even managed to rise into the air, and soon Hjalti's axe cut through its neck. Remembering what was to follow, Lydia hurried to her Thane's side. She knew she couldn't _do_ anything, but staying away felt wrong. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure retreating towards the town, but she didn't pay that any mind.

"What..?" Lorcalin asked, coming closer, right when the dragon's body went aflame, and the waves of light flew from it into Hjalti.

"Dragon's soul. He's Dragonborn," Lydia explained, catching Hjalti and holding him as he collapsed again.

"Is he alright? I know a bit of Restoration, if he's wounded, I could try-" Lorcalin started to say, but Lydia shook her head.

"It's not an injury. Absorbing the dragon's soul is painful. We can only wait until it passes."

"Dragonborn," Lorcalin repeated slowly, almost like he had just realized something, but Lydia didn't bother to ask what it was.

Just like the last time, in a few minutes Hjalti rose, no with no sign of the pain he had been in just seconds before. As he went to look at the dragon's skeleton, no doubt contemplating gathering more scales and bones, Lorcalin assaulted him with questions and accusations.

"You should have told me you're Dragonborn!" the elf demanded.

"And that is your business how, exactly?" Hjalti asked, not looking away from his task. From the elf's expression, Lydia suspected there was some story behind that phrase, but the moment didn't seem like a good time to ask.

"If the dragons are going to attack you everywhere, that is my business!"

"The dragons are going to attack everyone they think to be prey." Apparently deciding not to take the too weighty trophies, Hjalti turned and headed downhill. "Besides, nobody asked you to join the fight. Lydia and I would have killed this one just fine."

Lydia followed Hjalti, leaving the elf to decide what he was going to do. Honestly, she wasn't going to object, even if he ended up demanding his money back and leaving.


	10. Housecarl: Interesting Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have NOT abandoned this story! Hjalti would probably curse me if I did =) But writing has been difficult lately, so I'm not sure when the next update would happen. I'm working on it, though =)

Lorcalin hadn't decided to demand his money back and leave. Instead, when they all gathered in the Braidwood Inn, he even apologized for his outburst.

"Dragons are keeping everyone on edge," he tried to explain, but Hjalti waved him off.

Later, when the elf retired for the night, Lydia decided it was a good time to ask what they were going to do next.

"That was an awfully interesting coincidence, with the dragon," she commented, joining Hjalti at the table.

"Pretty sure you're smarter than to think that was all it was," Hjalti chuckled. "Our 'friend' from Riverwood was supposed to show up. She figured out that this dragon would be resurrected around this time, and she wanted to make sure I really was the Dragonborn. I guess she got scared when she saw the elf. Don't blame her, but she promised some answers. Not sure what I'm supposed to do now."

"We could go back to the Greybeards?" Lydia suggested.

"The Greybeards don't care about Alduin or the end of the world. To them, everything is the will of the gods. Might as well continue on to the Rift, see if anything interesting happens."

So that was what they did, leaving the inn in the morning and heading south along the road. Lorcalin kept stopping to stare at the landscape, as if he hadn't gotten enough of the tundra the day before, but Lydia mostly tried to ignore him. Hjalti's comment about "something interesting" had her worried. From what she had seen so far, her Thane had a rather uncommon definition of "interesting."

Lydia's worries proved true when they reached the Rift's border. The road there was winding between the cliffs, climbing onto the plateau the hold was on. One of those cliffs turned out to be a perfect place for an ambush, as they learned when several people jumped onto the road ahead and behind them.

No. Not people. Lydia could see at least two with spells ready, sinister-looking red auras around their hands, and the eyes of the one closest to her were gleaming red.

"Vampires!" Lorcalin cried out, already shooting lightning at one of the creatures.

Lydia turned to the ones behind them, trusting Hjalti and Lorcalin to take care of those ahead. Three of them, two men with weapons, and another one with the same red spell. All in leather, short swords and no shields. The one on the right lunged at her, and Lydia parried with her sword, trying to keep all three in her field of vision.

The man was not a warrior, which was clear from the chaotic thrusts of his sword. But he kept Lydia's attention on him, and the other one used that to his advantage. She barely managed to block his strike with a shield.

Lorcalin cried out in pain behind her, and the crackling of lightning stopped briefly, but soon resumed. Maybe he wasn't wounded too badly.

Two men attacking her now, and even with one being untrained as he was, Lydia had a hard time holding them off. For a while, the vampire just stood there, obviously waiting for his servants to take care of her, but when that didn't happen fast enough, the spell he held ready flew in her direction. Or, rather, stretched between the vampire and her. All of a sudden, Lydia felt weak. Almost like blood-loss, she thought, trying to keep her blocks up. She could barely hold the shield, and her vision went unfocused for a moment.

Then lightning caught the thrall on her left in the shoulder, and the other one got too close. Lydia managed to thrust her sword into his side, her own movements just as sloppy as his had been, but that was enough. The man fell to his knees, and Lydia hit him in the side of the head with the flat of her sword.

Then the spell stopped. Not that it mattered much, as she was still weak, but at least it wasn't leeching more from her. Gathering the last of her strength, Lydia bashed the other thrall with her shield, sending him sprawling on the ground. Taking another step, she thrust her sword into the man's neck.

Nothing attacked her, so she looked up, only to see Hjalti standing over the corpse of the vampire that had cast the spell on her. Glancing behind, she saw the other four attackers were dead, too.

Exhausted more than she should have been from such a short fight, Lydia sank to her knees. With shaking hands she took a health potion out of her belt pouch and drank it. That helped, but less than she hoped it would.

Hjalti turned to them from where he was trying to gather some of the ashes the vampire had turned into, and cursed when he saw the condition his companions were in. Lydia hadn't heard the tingle of healing magic, so Lorcalin obviously hadn't healed himself.

"Lorcalin, come here," Hjalti ordered. "Sit next to Lydia."

The elf obeyed, sitting heavily on the ground, and Lydia realized that, yes, he wasn't faring much better than her. The right sleeve of his gambeson had several scorch-marks, and he was cradling his right arm close to his chest, apparently trying not to move it too much.

Lydia wondered what her Thane was going to do. He wasn't a healer. From what she had seen, he didn't know any magic at all. Well, except the Thu'um, but that was different.

Before she could ask, Hjalti knelt on the ground in front of them, and whispered, " _Haas vokrii."_

Lydia blinked. This was not a spell. She had been tended to by the priestesses at the Temple of Kynareth, she knew what healing magic looked and sounded like. This was nothing like that, and yet, all her hurts were gone. Her exhaustion was gone, too; she felt perfectly fine.

"Is... was that-" Lorcalin started to ask, the same astonishment in his voice as Lydia felt.

"The strongest Thu'um I know," Hjalti replied, not even letting the elf finish the question. "Meaning we should hope we won't find anything else needing me to Shout for the next five hours."

"What? Why?"

"Because if I do, I will be rendered mute until morning at best. Maybe even longer, depending on the Shout," he explained to the elf's surprised questions. "Now, I've got no idea if it heals diseases, so if any of you feels even a little off at sunset, speak up. We'll have to get Cure Disease potions in Riften."

"We'll have to get them anyway," Lydia corrected. "If vampires are attacking in broad daylight, something is awfully wrong here."

"Strong ones, too," Lorcalin added. "That lightning that caught me wasn't a Novice-level spell."

Both Lorcalin and Hjalti went to loot the corpses then, and Lydia bit her tongue against her disapproval. She supposed she should get used to it, if both of them had no issues taking what trophies they could from their fallen enemies.

Lorcalin's curse attracted her attention. When she turned to look, the elf was staring at the one of the thralls she'd killed. The man had a distinct scar on his left cheek that his beard didn't cover, and now that he was laying still, she could see tattoos on his hands.

"Something's wrong?" Lydia asked.

"I was supposed to meet this man," the elf shook his head.

"How can you be sure?"

"The description fits. Beard, coloring, the scar, the tattoos. I made sure I knew how to recognize who I was looking for."

"So what are you going to do now?" She wondered if that meant their contract was over.

"No idea," Lorcalin shrugged. "Might as well go see what Riften has to offer. I'm not expected back for a few weeks. Pretty much anything is better than guarding the Embassy."

So Lydia had been right, they _had_ been hired by a Thalmor. At least he didn't seem too eager to search for Talos worshipers. Though who knows what information the dead man was supposed to have had for him.

Hjalti interrupted her thoughts. "We should be able to get to Shor's Stone before dark. No inn there as far as I know, but maybe the miners will let us set up tents nearby. At least there would be guards around."

***

People of Shor’s Stone were friendly, despite all the rumors Lydia had heard about the Rift. There was indeed no inn, but the miners allowed them to put their bedrolls in the barracks. Though there was little room, it was still better than the tent outside.

Later, the whole village gathered around the bonfire, everyone curious about what stories the travelers had. Hjalti told them about their fight with the dragon in Kynesgrove, and about the vampires, with far more flourish than either of the fights had really had. Lorcalin tried to correct him once, but Hjalti just looked at him, and that made the elf bite his tongue.

"They want stories, not reports," Lydia commented quietly, though even she had a bit of a hard time recognizing the events in her Thane's words. He made all three of them seem like the heroes of old, almost like in the _Tale of the Tongues._ Except that there was only one actual Tongue among them.

The story about fighting vampires had much more reaction from the villagers.

"That's the third time this month!" one of the men cried.

"And in broad daylight!" another added.

"Maybe we should all just go join that Redguard in his old fort east of Riften," the third suggested. "The mine ain't gonna work anyway."

"What's wrong with the mine?" Hjalti asked, his story finished.

"Spiders, that's what!" the local blacksmith, judging by his attire, explained. "Appeared out of nowhere one day, nearly killed two of the workers. Nobody's dared to go in there since."

"How many spiders are we talking about?" Clearly, her Thane was already planning to go and clear the mine from the nasty creatures.

"No idea. Hey, Grogmar! How many spiders did you count in there?" the blacksmith called to one of the miners, an aged Orc with a broken tusk.

"Ten, at least," the Orc grumbled. "Probably more by now."

"Shouldn't be too difficult," Hjalti mused, looking to where Lydia and Lorcalin sat. She shrugged. She wasn't afraid of spiders.

"Is he always like that?" Lorcalin muttered next to her.

"If you mean getting involved in things that shouldn't bother him, yes, he is," Lydia replied. Her Thane did seem to be prone to getting tangled in other people's business.

They cleared the mine in the morning, and then Hjalti agreed to take a sample of some ore to an alchemist in Riften for the village's blacksmith. Lydia rolled her eyes at that, but didn't say anything. They were heading there anyway.

Their first experience of Riften was a guard trying to earn some money on the side, who lost all his bravado after a few quiet words from Hjalti. The second was some thug that tried to "warn" them to "not cross the Black-Briar family", but he, too, decided it wasn't worth the trouble when Hjalti took a step towards him.

When an Orc in strange armor approached them, Lydia was almost ready to draw her sword even before he started talking. This city was certainly not one of her favorites. Yet, instead of threatening, the Orc held his hands up in front of him.

"No need for that." He obviously tried to sound somewhat friendly, but his gruff voice didn't really help. "I merely wanted to say, you three look like you'd fit right in with the Dawnguard."

"Dawnguard?" Lorcalin repeated, sounding almost like he was trying to remember something.

"We're vampire hunters," the Orc explained. "Taking up after the old order. Based in their old fortress, too. Two hours by the eastern road, there's an entrance to the canyon just past the turn to the Black-Briar Lodge."

"We'll think about it," Hjalti nodded, and the Orc left, grumbling about why he was stuck with the recruiting job.

Lydia had spotted the alchemist's shop down by the canal, but it turned out to be less useful than they expected. There was only one Cure Disease potion in stock, and the alchemist, Elgrim, outright refused to make more, grumbling for a long time about ingredients, supply and demand. At least his wife had taken the ore sample from Shor's Stone, and had even given them a few coins for delivery.

Luckily, there was another alchemist in town, her shop far smaller, but filled with far more useful potions. She was friendlier, too.

After they bought the potions they needed and sold the trophies they'd got from the vampires, Lorcalin suggested to go see what that Dawnguard place was.

"Like I said, pretty much anything is better than guarding the Embassy," he shrugged when Hjalti wondered if that was really what he wanted to do with his time. "Besides, two hours isn't a long time. We could get there and back before nightfall."

Of course, "two hours" had been a very optimistic estimate. They spent quite a bit of time looking for the canyon entrance, and then another hour to get through the canyon to the fort itself. And at the end of that road there didn't seem to be much to look at. The fort's walls showed signs of age and little maintenance, and its location and layout made Hjalti grumble again about poor design.

To Lydia's surprise, as soon as the grumbling started, Lorcalin began to ask questions. Why was the layout bad? And which would be better? What was so wrong with the location? With the design? How would Hjalti do it all if he had the chance?

That seemed to please her Thane, and he went on explaining things that Lydia had never thought about. From the architecture they then switched to discussing the reasons it evolved into what it was, coming to a conclusion that it all must have been due to Nordic obsession with "honorable battle," and really good defensive architecture was the furthest thing from that.

When they had finally reached the entrance to the fort, Lydia had learned more about siege warfare than she had ever expected to. It looked like both Hjalti and Lorcalin didn't want to stop their discussion, but they hadn't come here for that.

Behind the door was a short entryway leading to a huge atrium, in the middle of which two men were talking. One of them was a Redguard wearing the same armor as the Orc that had told them about the Dawnguard, and the other was in the distinctive robes of the Vigil of Stendarr. Lydia had heard something about "everyone being dead" and the Redguard being sorry and not wanting that to happen, but at that moment the men noticed they weren't alone in the hall anymore.

"Who are you? What do you want?" the Redguard asked, approaching them.

"We were attacked by the vampires that seemed unusually strong," Hjalti replied. "Seeing as you're vampire hunters, we thought it might be a good idea to check if you've got any advice. And that Orc friend of yours told us we'd fit right in here."

"So what, you want to join? Not really much here yet, I've only started rebuilding the order."

"The miners in Shor's Stone said this was the third attack they've heard of this month," Lorcalin interjected then. "And I've heard about some more."

"They are getting stronger, and bolder," the Redguard nodded. "They are up to something. What was that, Tolan? Dimhollow? You adventurers up for some crypt crawling? I don't have enough men to work on this place, much less to send anyone to investigate."

"Yes, Dimhollow Crypt," the Vigilant of Stendarr confirmed. "Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artifact of some kind. We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran...."

"Good enough," the Redguard — Isran, apparently — interrupted. "Go see what the vampires were looking for in this crypt. With any luck, they'll still be there."

"We haven't even agreed yet," Lydia muttered under her breath, but she hadn't managed to be as quiet as she intended. Or that Redguard had far better hearing than normal people.

"Oh? I was under the impression you wanted to join?" He turned to her with poorly hidden distaste. "Well, I'm the head of the Dawnguard now, I make the rules, and I give the orders. You don't like it, you get out of here."

"We'll see about that," Hjalti retorted, and then turned to the Vigilant. "Vigilant Tolan, if you could show us on the map where this crypt is...?"

It turned out to be in the mountains in the Pale.

"I take it you intend to go and see what's in that crypt?" Lorcalin asked as soon as they had left the fort.

"Don't have anything better to do," Hjalti shrugged. "Since I don't really know how I'm supposed to defeat Alduin, and it didn't look like people that might have had some ideas were going to actually help me.... This is as good a thing to do as anything else."

"Yes, if the vampires were looking for some ancient artifact, that is probably serious," the elf nodded. "Mind if I join you? My business in the Rift kind of got canceled, as you might have noticed."

"Sure, why not. The more the merrier."

The first place Hjalti headed for back in Riften was the stables. Luck finally smiled at them, as there were several horses for sale there. Hjalti took his time inspecting each one and talking to the stable master, before he selected three horses. Strangely enough, he hadn't even bothered to haggle this time.

They left early the next morning, again before the sun had risen properly, and managed to get to Windhelm a couple hours before sunset. After a few minutes of consideration, they decided to go on, and stay in the Nightgate Inn in Heljarchen. Windhelm was known for its bad attitude, and while Hjalti and Lydia looked "Nordic enough", Lorcalin was an Altmer. Even if he wasn't wearing a Thalmor uniform, his race would have been reason enough for suspicion, or maybe even something worse.

Halfway to Heljarchen, that stopped looking like a good idea. Twilight was hastened by stormy clouds, and very soon the snow started falling. They spurred their horses, trying to get to safety before the blizzard hit, but still had almost missed the village. Its few lights were barely visible in the worsened weather.

"Gods, I've forgotten how the weather could be in Skyrim!" Hjalti grumbled as they shook the snow from their armor and clothes under the awning of the Nightgate Inn.

"Yeah, we've been lucky so far," Lydia agreed. "Would be even more lucky if this clears up by morning. Or we might be stuck here for a few days."

Lorcalin shuddered, though it was hard to tell whether it was from the cold or the perspective of being stuck in this inn.

Finally, having gotten rid of most of the snow, they stepped into the warmth of the building. Almost immediately, there was a clatter from the corner of the room, and a man, obviously drunk, hurried to the door, muttering to himself. Lydia caught something about a "stupid elf," but didn't bother to pay more attention. Lorcalin, though, obviously did.

"Wait!" he caught the man by the arm when he was almost at the door. "Did you say 'Endarion'? Do you know him?"

"Leave me alone, elf!" the man slurred, trying to shake Lorcalin's hand off, but in his drunken state he was no match for the Altmer.

"No, I heard you saying his name," Lorcalin insisted. "How do you know him? Do you know where he is?"

"I said, leave me alone!" the man cried out, and that attracted the innkeeper's attention.

"Hey, no harassing people in my inn!" he shouted. "Let old Fultheim be, before I call the guards!"

His outburst seemed to startle Lorcalin, who let go of the drunk man's arm, and Fultheim didn't waste his chance, fleeing the inn. Whatever it was that had scared him was obviously worse than the weather outside.

"I'll let it pass this time," the innkeeper warned them when they approached the counter. "But I don't appreciate when people assault my customers."

"Peace, friend, we didn't mean any trouble," Hjalti replied, and Lydia couldn't help but notice how his whole demeanor changed. She suspected it was very hard for the innkeeper to remain annoyed after such a greeting.

"Fine, fine," the man behind the counter grumbled, but there wasn't much bite in his voice anymore. "You taking a room?"

"Two, preferably. Three if you have them available," Hjalti nodded. "And something warm to eat. That weather does wake the appetite."

"Two rooms, then. The other one is reserved for couriers," the innkeeper agreed.

Soon they were sitting at one of the tables by the fire, eating stew.

"So, who's Endarion?" Hjalti asked after a while, when they weren’t so focused on their food anymore.

For a moment, Lydia thought Lorcalin wouldn't answer. He kept staring at his bowl, as if its contents held the knowledge he was looking for.

"My brother," he said after a while. "He lived in Cyrodiil before the war. We haven't heard of him since. No letters, no reports of death. Not even mentions in the casualties lists."

"And you thought that drunk was talking about him? Isn't Endarion a common Altmer name?"

"I'm sure he thought I was him. He said 'Endarion, you stupid elf!' And we had been told we looked very much alike. I had to try."

"Well, maybe we can find something out when that Fultheim isn't as drunk as he obviously was," Hjalti suggested.

"If he hasn't gotten lost in the blizzard," Lorcalin countered morosely.

Lydia decided not to say that this was probably the most likely outcome. The man had looked terrified when Lorcalin stopped him.

They finished their meal in silence, and as soon as he was done, Lorcalin went to the rooms the innkeeper had told them were theirs for the night. He looked into both, and then entered the first one, closing the door firmly behind him.

Lydia waited for a while, but her Thane didn't seem to be in a mood to talk, so she headed to the room the elf had left for them. To her relief, it was big, and had two beds at the opposite sides. She set her pack down by the bed that was closer to the door, and stood there, wondering if she should go back to the main room. After a few moments of thought, she decided against it. Her Thane was a capable fighter, and she was just a dozen paces away. If anything was to happen, she'd be at his side in less than a minute.

Her mind made up, Lydia took off her armor and settled into the bed. After the day of riding, it didn't take her long to fall asleep.


End file.
